LIBRARY 


OF 

CAUPCMMIA 

SANWEGO 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA.  SAN. DIE 


3  182201718  1058 


<//•  ¥  0 

J  &66t/C    \2    /  f~wC 


•I 


Mildred  dropped  the  letter  without  a  word. 


Page  379. 


BY 

PANSY 

AUTHOR  OF  "  AN  ENDLESS  CHAIN,"  "  MRS.  SOLOMON  SMITH  LOOK- 

,"  "  CHRISTIE'S  CHRISTMAS,"  "  A  HEDGE  FENCE," 

"  ESTER  KIED  YET    SPEAKING,"    "  THE    HALL 

in  THE  GROVE,"  "  CHAUTAUQUA  GIRLS," 

"  RUTH     ERSKINE'S      CROSSES," 

"THE  MAN  OF  THE  HOUSE," 

" INTERRUPTED," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


BOSTON 

D.    LOTHROP    AND    COMPANY 
FBANKLIN  AND  HAWLEY  STREETS 


Copyright,  1886, 

by 
D.  LOTHKOP  &  COM r ART. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 
FROM  MIDNIGHT  TO  SUNRISE  .  ...       7 

CHAPTER  II. 
Miss  WAINWRIGHT'S  "MUDDLE" 24 

CHAPTER  III. 
STEP  BY  STEP 42 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THINGS  HARD  TO  EXPLAIN 58 

CHAPTER  V. 
SOCIETY  CIRCLES 74 

CHAPTER  VI. 
SHALL  WE  TRY 90 

CHAPTER  VII. 
LOGIC 1 06 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
SEVERAL  STARTLING  POINTS 123 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  VICTIM  OF  CIRCUMSTANCE  .       .    •    .       .       .       .    140 

CHAPTER  X. 
FRUIT  FROM  THE  PICNIC 157 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT 174 

3 


i> 

4        ,  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 
"WHAT  is  THE  USE?" 191 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
SILKEN  COILS 209 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
"LABORERS  TOGETHER" 225 

CHAPTER  XV. 
ENGAGEMENTS 242 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
THINGS  THAT  FITTED 259 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  PROOF  OF  THE  DIVINE  HAND        .       .       .       .275 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
HEDGED  IN 292 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
TRAVELLERS 306 

CHAPTER  XX. 

ONE  OF  THE  HOPELESS   CASES 322 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
DISCIPLINE 339 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
STORM  AND  CALM      .       .  356 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
SHADOWED  LIVES .       .    373 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
A  TOUCH  OF  THE  WORLD        .       .       .       <       .       .387 


CONTENTS.  5 

• 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

PLEDGES      .      ..       •     •  • *°3 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 

LIGHT  OUT  OF  DARKNESS 4*9 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

OVERDOING 435 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

44  WHERE  is  JOHN  " 45* 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

"ONLY  A  QUESTION  OF  TIME" 467 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE 483 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 
A  NIGHT  TO  REMEMBER  ,       t       »       •      •       •       •   4*9 


ONE  COMMONPLACE  DAY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

FROM   MIDNIGHT  TO  SUNBISE. 

THE  great  town  clock,  whose  face  showed 
in  the  moonlight  from  the  tower  of  the 
church  on  the  square,  tolled  twelve  times 
and  a  new  day  was  born.  To  all  appear- 
ances it  was  exactly  like  other  days  that 
had  preceded  it.  The  streets  were  quiet, 
save  for  a  comparatively  few  late  walkers, 
who  went  swiftly  about  their  business,  mak- 
ing no  stir  and  exciting  no  comment.  The 
houses  were  for  the  most  part  dark  and 
quiet,  for  this  was  a  quiet  town,  which  as 
a  rule,  hushed  itself  early  for  the  night. 

It  is   true   that   behind    and   above    certain 
screened     doors    the    light     glowed     brightly, 
but   the    owners    took    care    not  to   let    out- 
7 


8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

siders  see  what  was  going  on  behind  the 
screens.  From  here  and  there  a  house 
streamed  the  lights  from  many  windows,  and 
the  laughter  and  chatter  of  guests  sounded 
on  the  quiet  air;  and  there  were  certain 
windows  where  the  night  lamp  of  some  anxious 
watcher  burned  dimly,  but  for  the  most  part, 
the  town  was  asleep. 

Upstairs,  in  a  back  room,  whose  light 
could  not  be  seen  at  all  from  the  streets,  a 
lamp  was  burning  dimly,  not  because  some- 
body had  turned  it  low  and  shaded  it,  but 
because  it  had  turned  itself  low  for  want 
of  oil  to  feed  upon,  and  because  of  a  badly 
crusted  wick.  Of  course  it  smoked. 

Two  people  were  in  the  room.  One,  a 
young  fellow  with  brown  eyes  and  thick, 
brown  hair,  through  which  he  ran  the  fin- 
gers of  one  hand  in  an  absent  way,  was 
sitting  by  the  book-strewn  table,  bending 
over  the  open  book  which  lay  so  that  the 
dim  rays  from  the  dying  lamp  could  best 
strike  it.  The  other,  a  young  fellow  with 
blue  eyes  and  curly  hair,  sat  with  his  feet 
in  the  window  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 


FROM    MIDNIGHT   TO    SUNRISE.  9 

watching  first  the  moon  and  then  the 
student. 

At  last   he   spoke : 

"I  say,  Ben,  the  clock  has  struck  Thurs- 
day ;  you  need  not  moon  over  that  old  book 
any  longer.  We'll  have  to  get  to  bed  by 
moonlight  as  it  is;  that  light  is  departing. 
I  wish  it  would  go  bodily  while  it's  about 
it.  Faugh !  what  a  smell !  If  there  is  any- 
thing I  hate  it's  kerosene  oil." 

The  student  did  not  even  glance  up,  but 
turned  a  leaf  of  the  big  book  with  a  smile 
as  he  said: 

"  You   must   have  gas  put   in   your   house." 

"  I'm  going  to.  Catch  me  blinking  my  eyes 
over  smoky  kerosene  when  I  have  a  house 
of  my  own.  It  shall  have  all  the  modern 
improvements,  and  a  great  many  that  have 
not  been  discovered.  Time  enough  for  new 
ones  before  I  build  ! "  The  sentence  closed 
with  a  slight  laugh,  and  there  was  silence 
again  for  a  few  minutes. 

"There!  What  did  I  tell  you?  Now 
see  if  you  will  stop."  This  exclamation 
was  called  forth  by  the  circumstance  of 


IO  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

the  light  flickering  unsteadily  for  a  moment 
and  then  going  out  altogether. 

The  young  man  at  the  table  closed  his 
book,  looked  at  his  friend  in  the  moonlight, 
and  laughed. 

"I  should  have  had  the  facts  all  fixed  in 
my  mind  in  five  minutes  more,"  he  said, 
"  but  there  is  no  help  for  it  now.  I  am 
sorry  I  used  up  all  the  light,  old  fellow." 

"  The  moon  gives  light  enough  for  me, 
and  smells  better  besides ;  now  that  the 
soul  of  that  thing  has  departed  it  smells 
worse  than  before.  I'll  smash  that  lamp 
some  day,  see  if  I  don't !  Why  do  they 
always  give  the  vile  thing  to  us,  do  you 
suppose  ?  I  should  think  it  would  do  for 
Eames  to  trim  his  whiskers  by,  and  tie  a 
new  style  in  his  cravat;  that  is  all  he  uses 
a  lamp  for.  Look  here,  Ben,  did  you  know 
it  was  after  midnight?" 

"I  heard  you  say  that  a  new  day  was 
born.  I  wonder  what  it  will  do  for  us!" 

"Humph!  Exactly  what  the  other  days 
have  done.  You'll  keep  your  pen  going 
scratch,  scratch,  all  day,  and  I'll  fly  around 


FROM    MIDNIGHT   TO    SUNRISE.  II 

when  the  mails  come  in,  and  lounge  be- 
tween times,  and  yawn  and  wish  it  were 
night ;  and  in  the  course  of  time  night  will 
come  and  you  will  pore  over  those  books, 
and  I  will  wait  for  you  with  exemplary 
patience  and  growl  at  that  same  lamp,  the 
smell  of  which  garnishes  my  speech  at  this 
moment;  and  at  last  the  thing  will  take 
pity  on  me  and  go  out  —  earlier  than  it  did 
Jto-night,  I  hope  —  and  this  day  will  be  done. 
Time  is  kind  of  a  mean  thing.  A  hundred 
years  from  now  —  what  difference  will  it 
make,  I  wonder?" 

"  A  good  deal  according  to  the  theories 
of  some  people.  Lloj-d,  aren't  you  going  on 
with  your  study?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  am.  What's  the  use? 
I  can't  accomplish  anything  tugging  away 
here  all  alone ;  it  would  take  a  century  to 
get  ready  to  work  at  that  rate.  .We  might 
as  well  both  give  up.  I  don't  believe  we'll 
ever,  either  of  us,  be  doctors ;  and  the 
sooner  we  settle  down  to  the  commonplace, 
the  better  it  will  be  for  us." 

"  You're     blue     to-night,"     his    friend     said 


12  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

quietly ;  "  when  the  sun  shines  again  your 
ambition  will  return." 

"No,  it  won't;  I'm  tired  of  the  sun; 
great  red-faced  fellow,  shining  on  all  sorts 
of  people  in  the  same  way.  No  discrimina- 
tion about  him.  Why  hasn't  he  penetration 
enough  to  discover  that  we  are  unusual  fel- 
lows, and  ought  to  have  had  a  lift  sun- 
ward years  ago?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  make  to  this  ab- 
surdity save  a  laugh.  Meanwhile  preparations 
for  rest  had  gone  forward  rapidly,  and,  as 
the  two  had  worked  hard  all  day,  and 
were  tired,  beyond  a  few  groans  and  sighs 
over  the  hardness  and  smallness  of  the  pil- 
lows, talk  was  at  an  end,  and  the  deep- 
toned  breathing  Boon  showed  that  part  of 
the  new  day  was  to  be  spent  in  sleep. 

That  red-faced  sun  was  at  his  post  at 
the  usual  hour  the  next  morning,  and  was 
shining  brightly  when  the  two  friends  met 
on  the  street  corner.  Eben  Bruce  had  been 
gone  from  the  room  ten  minutes  before  his 
companion  had  opened  his  eyes  and  this  was 
therefore  their  first  meeting  for  the  day. 


FROM    MIDNIGHT   TO   SUNRISE.  13 

"There  is  something  slightly  different  going 
to  happen  after  all,"  Lloyd  said,  speaking  satiri- 
cally. "  Have  you  received  your  invitation?  " 

"What;  to  the  picnic?  You  don't  con- 
sider that  sufficiently  unusual  to  be  ruled  out 
from  the  commonplace,  I  hope?  This  town 
runs  to  picnics,  you  know." 

"But  we  don't  run  to  them  very  often; 
at  least  you  don't.  The  uncommon  part  of 
it  is  that  you  are  going." 

"  I   am    going  ?  " 

"Am  I  the  bearer  of  news?  Haven't 
you  heard  of  it  ?  Good  !  I  heard  your  supe- 
rior officer  remark,  not  half  an  hour  ago, 
that  he  should  send  you  off  for  an  after- 
Boon's  holiday,  since  you  hadn't  been  out  of 
town  this  season.  For  himself,  he  considered 
picnics  of  all  sorts  a  bore,  and  wouldn't  be 
hired  to  go.  He  meant  to  take  your  place 
and  send  you ;  because,  of  course,  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  establishment  must  be  there 
out  of  courtesy  to  the  ladies.  Now,  I  call 
that  an  almost  sublime  exhibition  of  unself- 
ishness on  his  part!  I  hope  you  will  con- 
duct yourself  with  becoming  gratitude  and 


14  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

humility  when  you   are  informed  of  the  grace 
extended." 

The  young  man  addressed  felt  his  cheeks 
glow,  and  knew  that  he  almost  involuntarily 
curled  his  lip.  The  position  of  second  book- 
keeper was  made  very  disagreeable  to  him 
because  of  the  superior  airs  of  the  first  book- 
keeper. 

"  I  shall  not  go,"  he  answered,  haughtily, 
"  so  the  self-denial  on  his  part  is  uncalled 
for." 

"  Oh !  but  I  would.  What  is  the  use  of 
standing  in  your  own  light  in  order  to  quench 
him?  He  won't  quench  worth  a  cent,  and 
the  woods  are  bright,  and  the  coffee  will  be 
hot,  and  the  cream  cold,  and  the  ladies  irre-. 
sistible,  in  spite  of  Milligan's  airs.  I  should 
by  all  means  go." 

"Are  you    to   go?" 

"Not  I.  The  United  States  mail  comes 
in  with  all  the  exasperating  regularity  of 
the  sun,  without  the  slightest  regard  to  pic- 
nics or  holidays,  and  I  have  no  self-abne- 
gating superior,  who,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
will  put  his  hands  on  my  shoulder,  and  say, 


FROM    MIDNIGHT  TO   SUNRISE.  15 

'My  dear  boy,  by  all  means  go  and  be 
happy ;  I  will  do  your  work  for  you.' 
Count  your  mercies,  Eben ;  if  you  were  a 
servant  of  our  free  and  independent  Gov- 
ernment, you  would  have  none  to  count." 

"What  about  this  picnic,  anyway?  Who 
was  taken  with  the  disease  this  time  ? " 

"It  is  a  sort  of  epidemic,  as  nearly  as  I 
understand ;  struck  a  dozen  or  more  at  once. 
It  is  intended  as  a  tribute  to  the  guest  at 
the  Cleveland  homestead." 

"What!    the   lecturer?" 

"  Aye ;  the  man  who  has  come  here  to 
rest,  and  get  away  from  people,  and  they  get 
up  a  picnic  to  rest  him  ! "  He  paused  here 
long  enough  to  indulge  in  a  hearty  laugh. 
"  But  the  gayest  part  of  it  is  that  the  dis- 
tinguished guest  can't  be  present ;  it  seems 
he  has  planned  to  be  several  hundred  miles 
from  here  by  to-morrow  evening,  to  fulfil  an 
appointment,  and  must  leave  on  the  morn- 
ing express.  So  all  they  will  have  of  him 
will  be  regrets  on  paper,  and  joy  in  his 
heart,  no  doubt.  Still,  it  will  be  aij  enjoy- 
able affair,  I  presume.  There  is  a  very  pleas- 


l6  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

ant  company,  and  they  go  to  the  pleasant- 
est  place  about  here,  I  think.  If  you've 
never  been  to  Crescent  Falls  it  will  pay  you 
to  go,  just  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  them. 
I  wish  I  could  go,  and  we  would  stroll  off 
together,  and  have  a  good  time  for  once  in 
our  lives,  unregaled  by  the  odors  of  kero- 
sene, or  boiled  lard,  or  any  such  thing." 

This  reference  to  the  close  proximity  of 
the  room  in  their  boarding-house  to  the  mul- 
tiform odors  of  the  kitchen,  set  them  both 
into  a  laugh,  and  then  they  separated,  Eben 
Bruce  walking  away  confirmed  in  his  resolve 
to  take  no  holiday  that  was  almost  thrust 
upon  him  to  serve  the  whim  of  a  disagree- 
able fellow-worker.  Besides,  who  wanted  to 
go  to  a  picnic? 

Meantime  on  the  side  piazza  of  the  Cleve- 
land homestead,  two  gentlemen  sat  under  the 
shade  of  a  spreading  elm.  The  younger  of 
the  two  held  in  his  hand  a  railway  time- 
card,  and  looked  up  from  its  perusal  to  speak 
with  a  positive  air : 

"It's  of  no  use,  Durant,  you  can't  do  it. 
If  that  change  of  time  had  not  come  in  day 


FROM    MIDNIGHT    TO   SUNRISE.  17 

before  yesterday,  you  would  just  make  the 
connection  at  the  N.  Y.  &  P.  Crossing,  but 
as  it  is,  you  would  have  to  lie  over  there 
and  wait  for  the  midnight  train,  which  you 
can  get  by  taking  the  seven-twenty  from 
here  in  the  evening.  My  friend,  you  are  in 
for  that  picnic,  and  no  help  for  it.  I  can 
not  in  conscience  say  that  you  had  to  go 
this  morning  to  make  your  train,  for,  besides 
not  being  true,  those  railroad  fellows  will 
all  know  that  it  isn't,  and  that  last,  you 
know,  is  an  unanswerable  argument  with  a 
great  many  people  in  favor  of  honesty." 

"But  by  this  arrangement  I  can  not  reach 
Venango  in  time  for  my  appointment ! " 

"  That  is  true  enough ;  you  will  have  to 
telegraph  that  you  have  failed  to  make  con- 
nection, and  they  must  make  the  best  of  it. 
I  am  as  sorry  as  possible ;  it  is  really  my 
fault  for  not  looking  up  the  time-table  be- 
fore this  late  hour.  I  had  no  idea  that  they 
changed  time  so  early  in  the  season  ;  but  I 
have  studied  the  matter  now  in  all  its  bear- 
ings, and  there  is  no  possible  way  for  you 
to  reach  the  junction  in  time  for  the  first 


1 8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

up  train."      Mr.    Durant's   face    was    clouded. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  said  he  after  a  troubled 
silence,  "and  I  don't  understand  it.  I  thought 
this  one  of  the  most  important  of  my  ap- 
pointments ;  the  fact  is,  it  took  me  half  a 
day  to  plan  so  that  I  could  give  them  one 
evening;  and  now  to  have  it  upset  and  a 
commonplace  picnic  put  in  its  stead,  seems 
strange  treatment  for  a  soldier,  doesn't  it? 
I  wanted  to  be  about  my  Master's  business. 
I  have  no  time  for  trifling." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Mr.  Cleveland  said  again, 
his  face  growing  as  grave  as  his  friend's,  "  I 
feel  that  the  blame  rests  with  me,  I  should 
have  been  more  careful ;  and  I  am  sorry 
about  this  picnic,  too;  it  was  sprung  upon 
me.  I  should  have  known  better  than  to 
have  dragged  you  into  such  a  thing  when 
you  are  tired  out." 

Mr.  Durant  hastened  to  disclaim  any  in- 
tention of  censuring  his  host. 

"The  blunder  is  my  own,  of  course.  You 
could  not.  be  expected  to  study  time-tables 
for  your  guests,  and  tell  them  when  to  start," 
he  said,  smiling.  "I  don't  know  what  possessed 


FROM    MIDNIGHT   TO   SUNRISE.  IQ 

me  to  be  so  indifferent;  it  is  not  like  me. 
As  for  this  picnic,  of  course  it  is  a  pleasant 
thought,  intended  in  kindness,  and  I  ought 
to  be  grateful ;  in  fact  I  am ;  only  it  seems, 
well,  a  little  trivial,  you  know,  when  I  have 
such  important  business  on  hand;  but,  after 
all,  I  may  as  well  go  and  enjoy  the  woods, 
and  make  the  best  of  it;  perhaps  it  will  fit 
me  the  better  for  my  autumn  work;  who 
knows  ?  " 

Mr.  Cleveland  rose  up  from  the  discussion 
with  a  relieved  air: 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  must  say  I  am  glad 
for  the  picnic's  sake ;  those  people  were  going 
to  be  sadly  disappointed  to  think  that  the 
lion  of  the  occasion  would  not  be  there,  after 
all.  One  can  be  sorry  and  glad  at  the  same 
time,  it  seems.  I  would  not  have  had  •  you 
miss  your  appointment  and  set  those  Venango 
people  to  groaning  for  a  great  deal;  but,  since 
it  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose  we  have  a  right 
to  be  glad  that  their  loss  is  a  gain  to  us. 
I  must  go  and  let  Miss  Hannah  Wamwright 
know  that  you  are  to  be  at  the  picnic.  It 
may  turn  the  scales  with  her." 


2O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"Who   is    Miss   Hannah   Wainwright  ? " 

"  She  is  a  very  interesting  and  original 
character,  who  will  bear  studying  ;  I  will  give 
you  a  chance  to  try  it  this  afternoon,  if  she 
can  be  induced  to  go.  She  looks  upon  pic- 
nics somewhat  as  you  do;  but  she  is  a  staunch 
temperance  woman,  and  believes  in  you;  has 
read  all  your  published  lectures,  and  quotes 
you  to  the  infinite  discomfiture  of  your  and 
her  opponents  often." 

Now,  Miss  Hannah  Wainwright  was  at  this 
particular  moment  in  her  large,  bright  room 
upstairs,  engaged  in  driving  a  hairpin  through 
the  neat  wad  of  gray  hair  on  the  back  of 
her  head,  and  bending  at  the  same  moment 
over  a  book  about  three  inches  square,  which 
was  fastened  open  on  her  dressing-bureau 
with  a  collar-box  and  a  hair  brush.  Her 
forehead  was  wrinkled,  and  her  face  wore  an 
astonished,  I  might  say  disturbed,  look. 

"  Well,  I  do  say !  "  she  said  at  last,  speak- 
ing slowly,  and  with  evident  perplexity  in 
the  tone.  "  That's  a  verse,  sure  enough !  It 
has  enough  in  it  to  last  a  lifetime,  instead 
of  a  day.  Well,  for  the  matter  of  that,  it 


FROM    MIDNIGHT   TO    SUNRISE.  21 

must  last  a  lifetime ;  and  that  doesn't  make 
it  easier.  I  don't  know  why  I  have  never 
taken  in  that  verse  before.  As  many  times 
as  I  have  read  it,  too !  It  shows  how  like 
a  machine  being  turned  with  a  crank  a  body 
can  read;  for  I  suppose  if  I  have  seen  that 
verse  once,'  I  have  forty  times." 

The  unruly  hair  was  in  order  at  last,  and 
the  small,  neat  linen  collar  pinned  securely 
in  place,  and  then  Miss  Hannah  bent  over 
the  little  book  again,  and  gave  undivided 
attention  to  the  words,  reading  them  aloud: 
"  Whether,  therefore,  ye  eat  or  drink,  or 
whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of 
God." 

14  Daily  food,  I  should  think  !  It  will  take 
more  than  one  day  to  digest  that !  I  must 
say,  I  don't  see  how  it  is  to  be  done,  or 
how  it  can  be  done.  More  than  that,  I  don't 
know  what  people  have  been  about.  It  doesn't 
stand  to  reason  that  they  have  all  been  as 
stupid  as  I  have,  and  lived  half  a  lifetime 
without  noticing  it  at  all ;  and  yet,  as  true 
as  I  am  Hannah  Wainwright,  I  don't  know 
as  I  can  think  of  one  who  is  practising  on  it." 


22  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

By  this  time  her  toilet  was  completed,  her 
windows  thrown  open  to  let  in  the  sweet, 
flower-scented  air,  and  she  went  slowly  down 
the  long,  wide,  old-fashioned  stairs,  through 
the  long,  wide,  old-fashioned  hall,  and  threw 
open  the  door  of  her  quaintly-furnished  din- 
ing-room. The  table  was  neatly  laid  for  one, 
and  glistened  with  china  and  shone  with  sil- 
ver, and  was  beautiful  with  choice,  fine  drap- 
ery ;  Miss  Hannah's  breakfast  table  was 
always  a  picture  pleasant  to  look  at.  Through 
the  half-open  door  came  a  whiff  of  fragrant 
coffee,  and  a  hint  of  broiling  steak. 

"  There  it  is !  "  said  Miss  Hannah,  "  whether 
ye  eat  or  drink.  How,  I  should  like  to 
know !  To  be  sure,  it  will  strengthen  me  for 
my  day's  work,  I  suppose,  to  eat  my  steak 
and  drink  my  coffee  ;  and  I  am  thankful  to 
God  for  the  food  to  eat,  and  the  pleasant 
place  to  eat  it  in  ;  but  how  can  I  plan  the 
day's  work  so  as  to  match  the  directions?" 

She  went  over  to  the  piazza  door  and  set 
it  open,  letting  in  a  glow  of  sunlight  and 
the  breath  of  many  flowers.  There  was  Peter 
trundling  his  barrow  down  the  pebbly  path, 


FROM    MIDNIGHT   TO    SUNRISE.  2$ 

with  its  burden  of  dried  leaves  and  cast- 
away blossoms.  Peter  was  a  faithful  work- 
man, but  his  pinched  face  this  morning  sud- 
denly suggested  to  her  the  wonderment  as 
to  whether  his  eating  and  drinking  could 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  glory  of  God. 
She  had  never  noticed  before  that  he  did 
not  look  well-fed.  She  called  to  him : 

"Good  morning,  Peter!     Have  you  had  your 
breakfast   this   morning  ? " 


CHAPTER  II. 

MISS  WAINWBIGHT'S  "  MUDDLE." 

PETER  stayed  his  wheelbarrow,  and  gazed 
at  Ins  mistress  in  astonishment. 

"  Why,  yes'm,"  he  said,  at  last,  remembering 
to  jerk  off  the  ragged  straw  hat  he  wore. 
"  I  had  it  at  the  usual  time,  ma'am  ;  a  quar- 
ter before  six." 

His  mistress  could  not  keep  back  a  little 
laugh  over  the  astonishment  in  his  face,  but 
she  pursued  her  investigation  : 

"Well,    Peter,   what  did  you   have?" 

And  then  Peter  hesitated,  placed  his  hat 
on  his  head,  drew  it  down,  indeed,  so  aa  to 
shade  his  face,  then,  suddenly  recollecting, 
took  it  off  again,  his  face  very  red.  Meantime, 
Miss  Hannah  waited,  regarding  him  with 
interest. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  he  said  at  last,  "to  tell 
24 


MISS  WAINWRIGHT'S  "MUDDLE."          25 

the  truth,  it  wasn't  as  big  a  breakfast  as  it 
might  have  been ;  not  a  square  meal.  You 
see  we  was  a  little  short  this  morning,  and 
I  just  took  a  bite  to  stay  me,  and  left  the 
rest  for  the  young  ones." 

Miss  Wainwright  looked  dismayed  and  be- 
wildered. 

"Do  you  really  mean  me  to  understand, 
Peter,  that  your  family  haven't  suitable  food 
and  enough  of  it  ? " 

"  Generally  speaking,  we  have,  ma'am,  but 
it  is  an  uncommon  short  time  with  us  just 
now.  We  have  had  sickness,  and  a  doctor's 
bill  to  pay,  and  I  had  to  lay  off  two  days 
and  a  half  to  help  take  care  of  the  boy, 
he  was  that  bad,  but  he  is  gaining  now, 
and  we  all  had  a  bite,  and  I  think  our 
oldest  boy  will  bring  home  some  meal  with 
him  when  he  comes  at  noon.  We've  got 
much  to  be  thankful  for,  ma'am  ;  we  didn't 
think  at  one  time  that  the  boy  would  pull 
through." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  sick  boy ;  what 
did  he  have  to  eat  this  morning?" 

"  Why,   the   mother,   she   saved   up   a   good 


26  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

slice  of  bread  for  him,  and  toasted  it,  and 
Tommy  he  bought  half  a  pint  of  milk  from 
the  milkman,  and  he  said,  the  boy  did, 
that  he  had  a  breakfast  fit  for  a  king ;  they 
all  save  up  for  him.  ma'am ;  he's  to  have  a 
baked  potato  for  his  dinner." 

Miss  Hannah  turned  suddenly,  and  went 
in  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Keziah,"  she  said  to  the  gay-turbaned 
colored  woman,  who  stepped  aside  to  let 
her  pass,  "cut  a  large  piece  of  the  steak,  and 
pour  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  arrange  things  on 
the  table  by  the  window,  and  have  Peter 
come  in  at  once  and  eat  a  good  breakfast, 
and  fill  the  willow  basket  with  whatever 
there  is  that  will  do  for  it  —  that  cold 
chicken,  and  the  bowl  of  broth,  pour  that 
into  a  tin  pail,  and  put  in  bread,  and  a 
glass  of  grape  jelly,  and  have  Peter  take  it 
over  to  his  house  as  soon  as  he  has  eaten 
his  breakfast.  Tell  him  I  say  he  is  to  go 
at  once,  and  don't  forget  the  butter  and  a 
pail  of  milk." 

"  Whether  ye  eat  or  drink,"  she  said  to 
herself,  as  she  went  back  to  the  dining- 


MISS  WAINWRJGHT'S  "MUDDLE."        .  27 

room.  "  And  here  is  a  family  near  to  starva- 
tion, may  be  under  my  very  eyes.  Sick- 
ness too !  I  am  glad  Peter  has  only  been 
in  my  employ  a  few  days.  I  should  feel 
too  ashamed  to  eat  my  breakfast  if  he  had 
been  working  for  me  all  summer,  and  I  had 
not  found  out,  though  I  don't  know  as  I 
should  have  thought  to  inquire.  Just  as 
likely  as  not  the  family  are  in  need  of 
clothing.  Of  course  they  are  ;  and  they  live 
at  the  foot  of  my  lane,  and  I  don't  know 
a  thing  about  them  !  " 

Then     she     seated     herself    at    her    pretty 
dining-table,   with   a   mental    determination   to 
step   over    to    Peter's   and    see   for   herself    at- 
the   first    opportunity. 

Keziah,  as  she  made  a  journey  to  the 
dining-room  with  hot  water  for  her  mistress' 
coffee,  having  an  eye  to  the  saving  of  steps, 
asked  a  question :  "Will  we  be  putting  up  them 
lace  curtains  in  the  np-stairs  room  to-day?" 

Miss  Hannah  regarded  her  with  a  bewil- 
dered air. 

"  There  it  is  again,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I 
declare,  now,  if  it  isn't  a  puzzle  ! " 


28  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  Oh !  here's  nothing  to  puzzle  a  body ;  I 
can  climb  the  step-ladder,  and  fix  them  as 
well  as  not." 

Miss  Wainwright   laughed. 

"It  is  a  puzzle  that  refuses  to  be  settled 
with  hammer  and  tacks,  and  your  skilful 
fingers,"  she  said.  "  What  have  lace  curtains 
in  my  spare  bedroom  to  do  with  the  glory 
of  God,  do  you  know,  Keziah  ? " 

"  Ma'am  ?  "  said  Keziah,  in  unbounded  as- 
tonishment. 

Her  mistress  laughed  again  —  a  laugh  that 
had  a  note  of  trouble  in  it. 

"  There  it  is !  "  she  said ;  "  that  is  as  much 
as  I  know  about  it.  No ;  we'll  let  the  cur- 
tains wait  awhile ;  they  may  go  up  to-morrow 
and  they  may  not.  I  don't  see,  for  my 
part,  how  they  are  to  be  made  to  fit." 

"  They  fit  to  an  inch,"  said  Keziah,  with 
decision  and  an  air  of  superior  wisdom.  "  I 
measured  them  myself  yesterday  afternoon 
with  the  rule." 

"But  they've  got  to  be  measured  by  a 
rule  in  a  little  bo.ok  upon  my  bureau;  that's 
the  trouble." 


MISS   WAINWRIGHT  S    "  MUDDLE.  2Q 

"  Ma'am  ? "  said  Keziah  again,  and  she 
wondered  whether  her  mistress  was  suddenly 
losing  her  strong  and  active  mind.  Who 
ever  heard  of  talk  like  this! 

Miss  Wainwright  saw  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  explaining  herself  more  clearly,  and 
therefore  dismissed  Keziah  with  another  state- 
ment to  the  effect  that  the  curtains  were 
not  to  be  touched  for  the  present. 

Her  breakfast  concluded,  she  still  revolved 
in  her  mind  the  problem  of  life  which  had 
been  sprung  upon  her  that  morning  out  of 
her  little  volume  of  "Daily  Food." 

Stepping  to  the  front  door,  she  set  it  open, 
and  then  wandered  down  to  the  front  gate, 
stopping  here  and  there  to  train  a  stray  bush, 
or  pick  a  bright  flower.  She  reached  the 
gate  just  in  time  to  receive  a  greeting  from 
one  of  her  favorites,  a  young  fellow,  who 
thought  he  was  studying  law  in  an  office 
down  town.  He  stopped,  his  handsome  eyes 
lighting  with  pleasure  at  sight  of  her,  arid 
held  out  his  hand  over  the  gate. 

"  Good-morning,  auntie  ;  how  does  life  use 
you  this  morning?" 


3O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  Better  than  I  use  it ;  things  are  in  a 
muddle." 

"No!  you  don't  say  that  you  are  mud- 
dled? That  alarms  me.  I  always  have  satis- 
faction in  thinking  of  the  straightforward- 
ness with  which  you  take  up  life.  What 
has  happened  ?  " 

Miss  Wainwright  looked  with  a  dissatisfied 
air  at  the  cigar  which  he  had  removed  from 
his  mouth. 

"So  you  smoke,"  she  said;  "I  didn't  know 
it.  Have  the  goodness  to  stand  the  other 
side  of  the  breeze,  will  you  ?  I  like  to  keep 
control  of  my  own  throat,  and  I  don't  choose 
to  choke  it  up  with  tobacco." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  auntie ;  I  did  not 
know  that  the  odor  of  cigars  was  so  dis- 
agreeable to  you,  or  I  would  not  have  pre- 
sumed to  stop  at  your  gate  with  one  in  my 
hand,"  and  he  tossed  the  offender  into  the 
road.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  you  men- 
tion the  matter  before." 

"There  is  no  use  in  talking  about  smoky 
chimneys  all  the  time;  if  they  will  smoke, 
about  all  you  can  do  is  to  keep  away  from 


MISS  WAINWRIGHT'S  "MUDDLE."          31 

them,  if  you  haven't  the  power  to  right 
them.  I  know  that  men  smoke,  some  of  them, 
and  I  suppose  they  will  continue  to  do  so, 
for  all  me ;  .  but  as  for  liking  it,  I  can  give 
you  a  bit  of  news  young  man,  if  you  want 
it.  No  woman  likes  to  have  tobacco  burned 
up,  and  puffed  at  her." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  young  man  said 
again.  "I  did  not  notice  that  the  wind  was 
in  your  direction ;  you  mustn't  be  too  hard 
on  me,  though.  I  never  smoke  in  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies,  nor  in  rooms  which  ladies  fre- 
quent; I  would  not  even  smoke  in  your 
kitchen." 

"  No,  I  guess  you  wouldn't ! "  This  with 
a  positive  setting  of  Miss  Wainwright's  firm 
mouth,  and  a  decided  shake  of  her  head. 
"  I  keep  control  of  my  own  house,  you  know, 
and  smoky  chimneys  there  are  what  I  don't 
stand ;  neither  the  self-made  kind,  nor  the 
imported  ones ;  not  but  what  I  am  willing 
to  own  that  you  are,  probably,  too  much  of 
a  gentleman  to  try  it.  Some  aren't,  though. 
They  haven't  had  your  advantages  in  life. 
That  Job  Perkins,  who  cleaned  out  my  cellar 


32  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

last  week,  came  puffing  into  my  kitchen  with 
a  nasty  pipe  in  his  mouth,  that  smelled  like 
a  worn-out  furnace.  *  Bless  me ! '  I  said  to 
him,  'there  isn't,  a  flue  in  my  house  that 
will  work  with  that  kind  of  smoke.  You'll 
just  have  to  go  and  puff  it  outside.  Mother 
Nature  has  got  to  stand  being  poisoned,  I 
suppose,  but  I  won't.'  He  went  away  mutter- 
ing that  the  quality  who  could  afford  high- 
priced  cigars  were  allowed  to  smoke  where 
they  wanted  to,  without  an  everlasting  fuss 
being  made  about  it.  He  was  mistaken,  so 
far  as  that  was  concerned ;  but  I  suppose 
you  belong  to  the  '  quality '  he  spoke  of,  and 
smoke  the  high-priced  cigars." 

The  handsome  young  fellow  laughed  pleas- 
antly. 

"  That's  just  the  point,"  he  said  gayly,  "  I 
do  smoke  first-class  cigars,  always ;  I  will 
not  use  any  others;  and  as  for  a  pipe,  I 
dislike  it  as  much  as  you  can.  What  con- 
nection there  is  between  good  cigars  and 
Job  Perkins'  ill-smelling  pipe,  is  more  than 
I  can  imagine." 

"I  know  it;    Job   Perkins    is   a   brother   of 


MISS    WAINWRIGHT  S    "  MUDDLE.  33 

yours,  to  be  sure,  according  to  the  Bible, 
but  then  he's  a  miserable  sort  of  a  poor  re- 
lation, who,  as  he  says,  cannot  afford  good 
cigars ;  and  it  ought  to  be  nothing  to  him 
what  you  elegant  gentlemen  do.  I  don't  sup- 
pose, if  the  truth  were  known,  that  Job 
ought  to  afford  even  his  nasty  pipe  ;  but  the 
idea  of  you  '  quality '  setting  a  good  example 
for  him  to  follow,  is  absurd,  of  course.  He 
ought  to  have  brains  enough  to  know  that 
he  doesn't  belong  to  the  same  world  with 
your  set." 

"  Auntie,  what  makes  you  so  peppery  this 
morning?  I  believe  Jack  Frost  has  nipped 
you.  Did  you  know  there  was  almost  a  frost 
last  night?  Please  tell  me  what  has  occurred 
to  put  you  in  ill-humor  with  the  world  in 
general,  and  your  worthless  pupil  in  partic- 
ular?" 

"I  am  not  in  ill-humor  with  the  world; 
I  haven't  thought  of  the  world  this  morn- 
ing. Aty  puzzle  has  to  do  with  those  who 
have  come  out  from  the  world  and  are  sep- 
arate, or  who  say  they  are ;  I'm  one  of 
them  and  you're  another;  you  fit  right  into 


34  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

the  muddle,  Charlie.  For  instance,  now, 
what  has  that  cigar  smoke  that  you  make 
a  bellows  of  your  mouth  to  puff  out,  to  do 
with  the  glory  of  God?" 

"  What ! "  said   the   startled  gentleman. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  may  well  be  astonished ; 
but  the  fact  is,  if  you  have  a  right  to  puff 
it,  it  ought  to  fit  the  pattern.  'Whether 
you  eat  or  drink,'  that's  the  rule;  though, 
to  be  sure,  smoking  is  neither  eating  nor 
drinking;  what  is  it,  anyway?  Where  can 

* 

you  classify  it,  intellectual,  mental  or  moral  ? 
However,  it  is  included,  because  you  remem-v 
ber  the  next  word,  I  suppose?  'Whatsoever 
ye  do.'  It  would  be  rather  difficult  to  slip 
away  from  that.  Now,  what  I  want  to 
know  is,  '  How  do  you  work  in  the  smok- 
ing for  the  glory  of  God?'! 

""Upon  my  word,  auntie,  I  fail  to  see 
what  you  are  driving  at.  So  far  as  I  know, 
smoking  has  never  been  extolled  as  one  of 
the  Christian  virtues.  I  don't  pretend  that 
it  is  necessary  to  a  full  Christian  develop- 
ment." 

"  I'm   not   talking    about    '  Christian    devel- 


MISS  WAINWRIGHT'S  "MUDDLE."          35 

opment,'  nor  '  Christian  virtues,'  nor  any 
other  phrase  calculated  to  hide  the  plain 
truth.  There's  .  the  rule,  '  Do  all  to  the 
glory  of  God.'  Now,  cigar  smoke  either  fits 
in,  or  else  it  doesn't;  and  if  it  does,  I  am 
asking  how?" 

"  But,  aunt  Hannah,  there  is  no  end  to 
speculation,  if  you  try  to  run  on  that  line. 
The  very  puckers  on  your  sleeve  would 
have  to  be  ripped  up  and  looked  into,  if 
you  narrowed  things  down  to  such  a  rule. 
How  do  they  'fit?'  Come  now!" 

Miss  Wainwright  surveyed  the  innocent- 
looking  little  ruffles  on  her  trim  morning- 
dress,  wearing  meantime  a  grave,  thought- 
ful face,  but  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long 
for  his  answer. 

"I  don't  know;  ruffles  and  cigars  occupy 
different  positions,  and  one  is  more  harmful, 
to  say  the  least,  than  the  other.  But  it  is 
a  fair  question,  and  if  it  needs  looking  into, 
why,  that  is  just  what  I  have  determined 
to  do  about  things  in  general.  It  doesn't 
alter  the  argument  one  whit.  If  I  spent, 
at  the  least  calculation,  twenty-five  cents  a 


36  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

day,  year  in  and  year  out,  on  ruffles,  I 
venture  that  I  should  have  looked  into  their 
merits  before  this  time ;  but,  as  my  ruffles 
are  few  and  far  between,  the  truth  is,  they 
have  never  taken  much  of  either  my  money 
or  my  thought.  I  don't  believe  they  are  a 
nuisance  to  anybody ;  and  they  look  neater 
than  cigars,  now,  don't  they  ?  However,  I 
am  ready  to  study  them,  and  if  I  find  they 
don't  fit,  rip  them  off.  Can  you  say  as 
much  for  your  side  ?  What  are  the  argu- 
ments for  smoking?  Is  it  necessary  to  your 
health  ?  or  does  it  keep  you  from  looking 
odd,  and  so  exciting  comment?  or  do  you 
smoke  to  encourage  manufacture,  and  so  help 
along  industry  ?  Those  are  some  of  the  ideas 
advanced  about  ruffles  and  things,  you  know." 

The  young  man  laughed  in  a  half-embar- 
ressed  manner. 

"  It  is  something  that  I  never  took  the 
trouble  to  argue  about,"  he  said ;  "  smoking 
is  a  luxury,  I  suppose ;  a  harmless  one,  I 
think,  and  therefore  I  indulge." 

"Then  you  don't  pretend  to  do  it  for  the 
glory  of  God?" 


MISS   WAINWRIGHT  S    "MUDDLE.  37 

"Aunt  Hannah,  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
hinting  it,  but  really  that  remark  sounds  a 
trifle  irreverent  to  me." 

"  What  does,  Charlie,  the  talking  about  it, 
or  the  not  living  up  to  it?" 

"  Neither ;  the  attempt  to  apply  such  sol- 
emn words  to  such  trivial  indulgences." 

"My  dear  boy,  how  can  I  help  that?  I 
didn't  make  the  application.  '  Whatsoever  ye 
do '  is  the  exact  phrase.  If  the  Bible  is 
irreverent,  I  am  surely  not  to  blame  for 
it." 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Wainwright,  do  you 
seriously  think  that  the  verse  is  to  be  ap- 
plied to  our  e very-day  movements,  as  you 
seem  to  be  doing?" 

Miss  Wainwright  had  wonderful,  penetrat- 
ing, gray  eyes ;  at  this  point  she  levelled 
them  at  the  young  man  before  her,  and 
gave  him  the  benefit  of  their  depth  for  a 
full  minute  without  speaking ;  then  she 
asked  her  next  straightforward  question: 

"  What   does   it   mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  my  judgment,  it  refers  in  a 
general  way,  to  our  living  consistent  Chris- 


38  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

tian  lives,  being  careful  to  do  nothing  that 
will  bring  discredit  on  the  cause." 

"  Why   doesn't   it   say   so,    then  ? " 

"  Pardon  me,  but  that  is  what  I  think  it 
has  done.  It  seems  to  me  that  such  an  in- 
terpretation as  I  have  given  is  the  only  rea- 
sonable one." 

"Is  that  the  way  in  which  you,  with  your 
present  knowledge  of  language,  would  have 
written  it  ?  If  you  had  prepared  a  communi- 
cation for  me,  the  object  of  which  was  to 
admonish  me  in  a  general  way  to  be  careful 
that  I  did  nothing  to  bring  discredit  on  your 
father's  family,  would  you  have  written:  'Now, 
Miss  Wainwright,  whether  you  eat,  or  drink, 
or  whatever  you  do,  do  all  to  the  glory  of 
our  family?'" 

"Aunt  Hannah,  you  ought  to  have  been 
a  lawyer;  you  have  a  very  skilful  way  of 
putting  a  fellow  in  a  corner." 

"I  haven't  put  you  in  any  corner;  if  you 
are  there,  you  have  yourself  to  thank  for  it ; 
I  should  advise  you  to  review  your  study  of 
logic  before  you  write  a  commentary  on  the 
Bible.  It  looks  as  plain  to  me  as  that  two 


MISS  WAINWRIGHT'S  "MUDDLE."  .        39 

and  two  make  four;  there  is  the  direction 
from  the  One  whom  we  acknowledge  has  a 
right  to  direct  us  and  our  business  is  to  fit 
our  lives  to  it." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Cleveland,"  and  Miss 
Wain  Wright's  hand  was  held  out  cordially  to 
the  new-comer. 

He  declined  her  invitation  to  enter  the 
house,  and  made  known  his  errand  briefly. 
The  popular  temperance  orator,  who  had  been 
resting  with  him  for  a  day  or  two,  and  who 
had  expected  to  leave  that  morning,  was 
unable  to  make  connections  Westward,  and, 
therefore,  contrary  to  the  reports  which  had 
been  circulated,  would  attend  the  picnic, 
which  had  been  gotten  up  to  do  him  honor. 
The  question  was,  would  Miss  Wainwright 
go? 

'•I'm  interested  in  that  question,"  young 
Lambert  said,  leaning  over  the  gate,  and  re- 
garding the  lady  with  mischievous  eyes.  u  I 
am  anxious  to  know  if  a  picnic  can  be  made 
to  fit  your  new  rule." 

"The  rule  isn't  new,  Charlie,  it  is  eighteen 
hundred  years  old ;  and  of  course  you  ought 


4O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

to  be  interested  ;  if  a  picnic  doesn't  fit,  we 
are  bound,  you  and  I,  to  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  I'm  not  sure  whether  it  does 
or  doesn't." 

Mr.  Cleveland  regarded  them  both  with 
curious  eyes. 

"May  I  be  permitted  to  know  what  par- 
ticular rule  is  to  be  fitted  to  this  picnic?" 
he  asked  at  last. 

Miss    Wainwright's   answer   was  prompt: 

"  It  isn't  the  rule  that  is  to  be  fitted  to 
the  picnic,  but  the  picnic  that  is  to  be  fitted 
to  the  rule,  though  I  guess  you  have  solved 
some  of  my  difficulties.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  that  were  what  is  the  matter  with  people ; 
they  have  been  at  work  trying  to  fit  the 
rule  to  their  actions,  instead  of  making  their 
actions  match  the  rule.  Why,  it  is  the  old 
story,  Mr.  Cleveland,  you  are  acquainted  with 
it,  '  Whatsoever  ye  do,'  you  know,  '  do  all  to 
His  glory.'  Charlie  is  exercised  as  to  whether 
the  picnic  can  be  made  to  glorify  Him.  I 
don't  know  whether  it  can  or  not,  do  you?" 

The  gleam  in  Mr.  Cleveland's  eyes  would 
have  told  a  close  observer  that  he  understood 


MISS   WAINWRIGHT  S    "MUDDLE.  4! 

the  language  which  the  lady  was  speaking; 
he  glanced  from  her  to  the  young  man,  a 
touch  of  surprise  in  his  face  ;  could  liis 
thoughts  have  been  read,  they  would  have 
been  something  like  this : 

"Charlie  Lambert  troubled  with  such  ques- 
tionings !  There  must  be  more  to  the  young 
fellow  than  I  had  supposed.  Perhaps  he  is 
the  very  helper  we  need." 


CHAPTER  III. 

STEP  BY  STEP. 

THEN  he  answered  Miss  Wainwright's 
questioning  eyes.  "I  understand.  I 
can  see  ways  in  which  picnics  might  fit ; 
can  not  you?  Do  not  the  workers  in  the 
vineyard  need  occasionally,  between  seed-time 
and  harvest,  just  the  rest  and  refreshment 
which  the  putting  off  of  care,  and  in  a  cer- 
tain sense  of  responsibility,  and  the  giving 
themselves  up  to  a  day  of  out-door  social 
pleasures,  gives  ?  " 

"  The  workers  ?  Yes,  I  think  more  than 
likely  they  do.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it 
would  do  you,  and  Mr.  Durant,  and  Doctor 
Brandon,  and  two  or  three  others  whom  I 
can  think  of,  a  world  of  good.  But  what 
about  me  ?  I  don't  believe  I  need  such 
rest  at  all.  I  haven't  been  doing  the  sort 
42 


STEP    BY   STEP.  43 

of  work  which  requires  that  kind  of  rest. 
In  fact  I'm  not  tired.  I  never  felt  stronger 
in  my  life.  Ready  for  anything.  Why 
should  I  go  and  waste  a  day  in  the 
woods?" 

Mr.  Cleveland  smiled  brightly;  the  breezy 
energy  with  which  she  spoke  seemed  to  give 
him  new  courage. 

"Good!"  he  said.  "It  rests  me  to  find 
one  who  isn't  tired.  As  to  the  picnic ;  how 
do  I  know  what  your  work  is?  If  you 
are  to  go  —  and  the  Lord  will  tell  you 
whether  that  is  the  way  to  spend  the  after- 
noon or  not  —  he  certainly  has  something 
for  you  to  say  or  do  for  somebody  —  a 
word,  or  a  deed,  or  a  look.  How  can  we 
tell  beforehand  what  it  is  ?  Can't  we  trust 
him  to  point  out.  the  way,  step  by  step?" 

A  softened  look  came  in  the  clear,  gray 
eyes.  Miss  Wainwright  looked  off  at  the 
hills  in  the  distance,  her  whole  face  taking 
a  restful  expression  of  humble  trust. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  at  last,  turning 
back  to  Mr.  Cleveland,  "you  have  given 
me  a  lift.  'Step  by  step.'  That  is  what  I 


44  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

haven't  been  much  given  to  doing.  I've 
planned  the  way  weeks  beforehand,  and 
strained  every  nerve  to  walk  in  the  path 
of  my  own  planning.  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  I  didn't  do  a  thing  this  day  that 
was  planned  out  for  it  a  week  ago.  I 
said  I  wasn't  going  to  waste  my  time  at  a 
picnic ;  and  I  feel,  now,  as  though  I  might 
very  likely  go.  I  can't  tell  yet.  You  are 
going,  Charlie,  I  suppose  ?  What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it  after  you  get  there? 
That's  the  question.  You  don't  know,  do 
you  ?  Neither  do  I.  But  if  we  both  go,  in- 
tending to  do  the  thing  that  He  says  do  next, 
I  suppose  it  will  all  be  right.  Only  there's 
this  about  it,  I  should  think  we  would  both 
need  to  watch  that  we  did  not  do  the 
things  which  He  has  explicitly  told  us  not 
to  do." 

The  gentlemen  lifted  their  hats  in  fare- 
well a  moment  afterward,  and  passed  down 
the  road  together. 

"A  grand  woman,  that!"  Mr.  Cleveland 
said,  and  the  younger  gentleman  made  an- 
swer: 


STEP    BY    STEP.  45 

"  A  queer  woman  as  one  will  find  in  a 
lifetime!  Grand?  Yes;  I  suppose  she  is  in 
a  way." 

And  then  they  reached  the  corner  and 
their  ways  separated,  of  which  fact  Mr. 
Charlie  Lambert  was  glad.  He  drew  a  long 
breath,  as  one  who  had  breathed  an  atmos- 
phere that  was  too  bracing  for  him.  In 
truth,  he  felt  as  though  he  wanted  no  more 
of  that  sort  of  thing  just  at  present. 

Up-stairs,  in  Fannie  Copeland's  room,  the 
girls  were  making  their  beds  and  frolicking. 
I  think  the  frolic  progressed  more  rapidly 
than  the  bed-making.  They  were  not  very 
old  young  ladies,  and  they  were  very  warm 
friends,  and  had  been  separated  for  three 
months  and  thirteen  days,  and  this  was 
their  first  morning  together.  They  felt  wild. 
Their  frolic  took  the  undignified  and  very 
enjoyable  form  of  a  pillow  fight.  And  the 
peals  of  laughter  which  constantly  issued 
from  their  room  let  everybody  in  the  house 
know  how  thoroughly  the  fun  was  being 
enjoyed. 

"  Just    hear    those    girls ! "    Mrs.    Copeland 


46  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

said,  as  she  went  about  her  neat  dining- 
room  ;  and  she  smiled  in  appreciation  of 
their  glee. 

Mildred,  the  guest,  was  the  first  to  rally 
from  the  spell,  and  brush  back  her  disor- 
derly hair  and  say : 

"Frances  Copeland,  what  would  your 
mother  think  if  she  could  see  this  room? 
She  will  believe  that  a  real  hoyden  has 
come  to  visit  you." 

"Fancy  Mildred  Powers  being  sat  down 
as  a  hoyden ! "  laughed  Fannie,  breathless 
with  fun  and  the  effect  of  the  last  pillow. 
"My  mother  isn't  easily  disturbed,  my  child. 
She  has  had  me  for  her  daughter  too  long  for 
that.  She  is  just  the  nicest  mother.. a  girl 
ever  had,  anyway." 

"Except  mine,"  Mildred  said,  with  the 
look  on  her  face  that  one  likes  to  see  a 
girl  wear  when  she  speaks  of  her  mother. 

Fannie   laughed,   lightly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "I  must  except  your 
mother,  of  course.  I  know  she  must  be 
ever  so  nice,  on  account  of  her  daughter. 
But  Mildred,  really  and  truly,  I  have  seen 


STEP    BY    STEP.  47 

a  great  many  mothers  whom  I  wouldn't 
have  had  for  mine  under  any  consideration 
whatever.  I  do  feel  so  sorry  for  girls, 
sometimes,  just  because  of  theirs  mothers." 

It  was   Mildred's   turn    to   laugh. 

That  is  just  one  of  your  queer  ideas, 
Fannie  Copeland.  I  don't  suppose  there  is 
a  girl  in  the  world  who  would  exchange 
her  mother  for  yours  or  mine  for  anything. 
All  girls  think  their  mothers  are  splen- 
did." 

Fannie   shook   her   head. 

"  Don't  }'ou  believe  it,"  she  said,  with  an 
air  of  wisdom.  "  You  can't  have  seen  as 
many  different  types  of  mother  as  I  have, 
or  you  would  know  better.  There's  a  girl 
here,  Laura  Milroy,  her  name  is,  if  her 
mother  were  mine  I  should  run  away,  and 
sometimes  I  think  Laura,  would  like  to." 

At  that  moment  a  clear  voice  called  from 
the  hall  below  : 

"  Fannie ! " 

"  There  I  "  said  Mildred,  "  she  has  hearcl 
our  uproar,  and.  has  come  to  quench  us." 

But     Fannie     went     away     with     a    bright 


48  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

face,  in  no  wise  concerned.  In  a  moment 
she  was  back. 

"  Where  is  my  pin,  Mildred,  do  you  see 
it  anywhere?  It  is  a  call;  must  be  on  busi- 
ness so  early  in  the  morning.  Charlie 
Lambert ;  I've  never  told  you  about  him, 
have  I?  Well,  there  isn't  much  to  tell;  he 
is  a  good-hearted  young  fellow,  who  studies 
some,  and  lounges  some,  and  smokes  some, 
and  is  handy  to  have  around.  If  he  has 
come  to  call,  Milly,  I'll  come  back  for  you," 
and  she  hurriedly  smoothed  her  rumpled  hair, 
set  her  collar  straight  and  departed. 

When  she  came  again  her  face  was 
bright. 

"  It  is  an  invitation,  Mildred ;  a  picnic  at 
the  falls ;  just  a  perfect  day  for  it.  I  ac- 
cepted for  you  at  once.  I  wasn't  going  to 
give  you  a  chance  to  refuse.  Oh  !  you  good, 
naughty  girl,  you  have  finished  the  bed, 
haven't  you,  and  straightened  the  bureau? 
I  am  real  glad  about  this  picnic ;  it  will 
give  me  a  chance  to  introduce  you  to  all 
the  girls.  And  Charlie  Lambert  is  a  good 
one  to  go  with;  he  doesn't  hover  around 


STEP    BY   STEP.  49 

one  all  the  time,  but  gives  you  a  chance  to 
enjoy  other  people  a  little.  The  falls  are 
just  lovely,  Mildred.  Don't  you  know  I 
told  you  about  going  there  last  summer,  and 
having  such  a  delightful  time?  I  haven't 
been  since." 

A  good  deal  of  talk  followed  as  to  hours 
and  plans.  The  picnic  grounds  were  ten 
miles  away,  but  were  reached  by  steam-cars, 
which  left  the  depot  promptly  at  two 
o'clock. 

"Charlie  warned  me  that  if  we  were 
tardy,  it  would  be  a  hopeless  case,  for  there 
isn't  another  train  up  that  will  stop  at  the 
falls  until  seven." 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  this  Charlie, 
Fannie  ?  " 

"  Oh !  why,  I  told  you ;  good  and  nice ; 
like  one's  brother,  you  know,  only  I  shouldn't 
care  to  have  a  brother  just  like  him." 

"Why   not?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  Just  because  I  wouldn't. 
I  should  be  as  particular  about  brothers  as 
I  am  about  mothers.  I'm  always  glad  that 
my  only  brother  is  five  years  younger  than 


5O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

I  am,  because  I  can  bring  him  up  to  suit 
me.  Charlie  is  a  law  student ;  at  least  he 
is  in  Judge  Marley's  office.  It  seems  as 
though  he  went  to  too  many  picnics  and 
tilings  to  study  much.  Not  that  he  is  wild ; 
I  don't  mean  that.  He  has  very  good  mor- 
als. Why,  he  is  a  member  of  the  church ; 
not  that  that  amounts  to  much  with  him." 

"He  must  be  a  rather  remarkable  person. 
He  has  all  the  virtues,  and  is  a  good  fel- 
low, and  doesn't  amount  to  much  in  any 
way ! " 

Fannie   laughed. 

"  I  am  giving  you  a  wrong  impression. 
I  don't  know  how  to  describe  people ;  but 
there  really  isn't  a  great  deal  about  Charlie 
to  describe.  He  is  just  a  good  enough  boy, 
and  that  is  about  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  that  his 
being  a  member  of  the  church  did  not 
amount  to  much?" 

"I  don't  know  quite  what  I  did  mean. 
Only  we  have  our  ideals  of  things,  you 
know.  I  have  always  thought  that  if  I  were 
a  church-member  I  should  like  to  be  a  real 


STEP    BY    STEP.  5 1 

thorough-going  one ;  act  as  though  it  meant 
something  of  great  importance,  and  be  dif- 
ferent in  every  way.  I  dare  say  I  should 
not ;  I  should  be  like  every  one  else,  prob- 
ably. But  one  thinks  more  of  these  things 
in  a  man  than  even  in  a  woman.  There  is 
occasionally  a  man,  you  know,  who  acts  as 
though  his  church  and  his  religion  were  the 
most  important  matters  in  life  to  nim,  and 
I  think  it  is  rather  becoming — " 

"And  this  Mr.  Lambert  doesn't  impress 
you  in  any  such  way  ? " 

"Oh!  Charlie,  he  is  of  another  type  alto- 
gether. He  never  does  anything  particularly 
wrong,  I  guess ;  but  you  don't  get  an  im- 
pression that  it  is  because  of  his  religion. 
He  never  goes  to  prayer-meeting.  He  is  too 
busy,  I  believe ;  has  to  study  evenings  or 
stay  in  the  office ;  but  then  there  are  num- 
berless other  evenings  when  he  doesn't  seem 
to  have  to  do  any  such  thing.  He  is  in  a 
Bible-class ;  is  one  of  Miss  Wainwright's 
young  men,  and  she  is  always  chasing  him 
up  to  see  why  he  wasn't  there  last  Sunday. 
But  he  is  kind-hearted  and  gentlemanly,  and 


52  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

always   ready   and   willing  to  do  one  a  favor. 

"  There's  mamma's  voice  calling  me  again. 
I  think  she  wants  to  plan  about  our  lunch 
for  this  afternoon ;  will  you  come  down 
with  me,  Mildred,  or  will  you  wait  here 
till  I  come  back  ? " 

Mildred  chose  to  stay ;  and  the  moment 
she  was  alone,  she  drew  from  a  snug  cor- 
ner of  her  trunk  a  medium-sized,  handsomely 
bound  Bible,  and  sat  down  with  thoughtful 
face  beside  the  open  window.  Yet  the  read- 
ing did  not  seem  to  hold  her  thoughts ; 
she  turned  the  leaves  absently,  not  as  one 
who  was  really  looking  for  any  particular 
place,  but  as  one  whose  attention,  was  pre- 
occupied. She  settled  where  to  read,  at 
last;  but  with  a  single  verse,  her  eyes 
roved  outside  the  window.  Something  had 
set  Mildred  Powers  into  a  quieter  mood 
than  that  which  had  possessed  her  during 
the  pillow  fight.  As  you  looked  at  her 
now,  you  would  have  decided  that  the  quiet 
mood  became  her  best  ;  perhaps,  was  more 
habitual  to  her.  It  was  a  sweet,  young 
face,  with  fair  hair  and  bright  brown  eyes, 


STEP    BY    STEP.  53 

large  and  thoughtful  looking.  You  would 
not  have  thought  her  more  than  seventeen, 
though  in  reality  she  had  just  passed  her 
eighteenth  birthday.  The  extreme  simplicity 
of  her  morning  dress  possibly  gave  one  a 
better  opportunity  to  note  its  exquisite  fit 
to  a  graceful  form ;  and  also  to  notice  how 
exactly  it  harmonized  with  a  somewhat  try- 
ing complexion.  Somebody  made  a  study  of 
dress  for  Mildred  Powers  ;  sufficiently  at 
least  to  have  her  select  that  which  best 
suited  her.  Yet  the  whole  effect  was  such' 
as  to  impress  a  looker-on  with  the  feeling 
that,  once  selected  and  made,  her  dress 
commanded  very  little  more  attention  from 
its  wearer.  I  am  not  sure  that  the  face  of 
the  wearer  was  one  easy  to  read.  There 
was  power  in  it,  certainly  ;  but  of  just 
what  sort,  or  whether  it  had  not  been  suf- 
ficiently called  out  by  circumstances  for  any 
one  to  be  sure  of  it  as  yet,  was  a 
question.  She  was  a  girl  who  exerted  more 
or  less  influence  over  her  friends  without 
being  aware  that  she  did  so.  Fannie  Cope- 
land,  on  the  other  hand,  was  perfectly  well 


54  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

aware  that  she  was  a  power  in  every  direc- 
tion in  which  she  chose  to  exert  herself. 
She  knew  that  this  dear  friend  of  hers 
leaned  on  her,  depended  on  her  judgment, 
was  swayed  by  her  movements  ;  she  had  not 
discovered  that  she  herself  was  ever  swayed 
by  Mildred.  Before  three  verses  of  the  chap- 
ter had  been  read,  Fannie's  quick  step  was 
heard  on  the  stair  again.  It  was  an  involun- 
tary action  of  Mildred's  to  thrust  the  hand- 
some Bible  suddenly  out  of  sight  'under  the 
folds  of  a  crimson  shawl  that  lay  on  the  couch 
beside  her.  She  could  not  have  told  why 
she  did  so ;  she  would  have  been  a  little 
ashamed  to  try  to  tell.  There  was  an  in- 
stinctive feeling  that  it  would  seem  strange 
to  Fannie  to  find  her  reading  in  the  Bible. 
Fannie's  face  was  clouded,  and  the  tones  of 
her  voice  had  undergone  a  change. 

"Mamma  wants  us  to  take  Kate  with 
us,"  she  said  at  last,  feeling  that  Mildred's 
eyes  questioned  her  changed  mood. 

"  Kate  !   why,   how    can   we  ?  " 

"  That  is  just  what  I  asked  mamma ;  but 
she  doesn't  seem  to  realize  the  difficulties. 


3TEP   BY    STEP.  55 

Mothers    do   have   peculiar   ideas    sometimes." 

44  Fannie,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  did  not 
mean  to  call  your  mother's  judgment  in  ques- 
tion. I  only  meant  that  I  thought  we  were 
ourselves  guests  and  not  at  liberty  to  invite 
others." 

44  As  to  that,"  said  Fannie,  ashamed  of 
the  position  in  which  she  was  placing  her 
mother,  "  it  is  a  sort  of  town  affair,  you. 
know ;  that  is,  it  is  a  temperance  picnic, 
and  invitations  have  been  issued  in  the  pa- 
pers for  all  to  go  who  choose  to  buy  tick- 
ets." 

4*  Oh !  I  didn't  understand ;  why,  then, 
there  is  no  difficulty  in  the  way ;  Kate  is 
as  much  invited  as  we  are." 

44  That  is  what  I  tell  mamma ;  and  at  lib- 
erty to  go  if  she  wishes,  without  our  tak- 
ing her  under  our  protection ;  but  mamma 
says  she  is  timid,  and  feels  that  she  doesn't 
know  the  girls  very  well,  and  she  is  sure 
she  will  not  go  unless  we  ask  her  to  walk 
along  with  us,  and  look  after  her  a  little." 

44 Well,  why  not?  We  could  easily  man- 
age that,  since  there  are  four  of  us ;  you 


$6  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

could   walk    with   your   friend,   and  Kate   and 
I   would    keep   right   at   your   heels." 

Mildred's  voice  was  merry,  and  her  face 
without  a  cloud  ;  apparently  nothing  in  the 
prospect  troubled  her.  But  Fannie's  face 
did  not  clear. 

"  I  should  be  very  likely  to  allow  that !  " 
she  said,  in  a  tone  which  was  divided  be- 
tween vexation  and  indignation. 

"  It  is  a  real  nuisance !  I  don't  know 
why  mamma  can't  see  that  it  would  just 
spoil  our  pleasure.  If  I  had  thought  I  were 
going  to  be  tried  in  this  way,  I  -should 
never  have  coaxed  to  have  Kate  come  here." 

"But  Fannie,  what  harm  will  it  do?  I 
really  and  truly  would  just  as  soon  walk  to 
the  depot  with  Kate  as  not.  I  like  her  face 
ever  so  much.  And  if  your  gentleman  friend 
does  not  like  it,  he  need  have  nothing  to 
do  with  her.  It  .was  you  he  invited,  for  I 
suppose  lie  did  not  even  know  I  was  here ; 
so  he  will  have  the  company  he  planned  for, 
and  everything  will  be  nice." 

Fannie  shook  herself  with  increasing  im- 
patience, and  twitched  about  the  hair  she 


STEP    BY    STEP.  57 

was  trying  to  rearrange,  so  that  in  revenge 
it  tumbled  recklessly  in  pretty  brown  waves 
to  her  waist. 

"  Now  see  what  I  have  done !  Here  is  a 
good  half-hour  of  work,  and  I  thought  my 
hair  was  put  away  for  the  day.  It  isn't 
that,  Mildred ;  I  don't  care  two  straws  what 
Charlie  Lambert  likes  or  doesn't  like.  We 
should  get  along  well  enough  going  to  the 
depot ;  but  it  will  just  make  embarrassment 
the  whole  time.  Introductions,  you  know, 
and  having  her  waited  on ;  it  is  to  be  a 
basket  picnic,  and  particular  friends  will 
gather  in  groups,  aud  she  will  have  to  be 
one  of  our  group,  of  course,  and  it  will 
just  be  disagreeable  all  the  time.  If  mamma 
were  a  young  girl,  she  would  see  how  it  is. 
You  needn't  look  at  me  out  of  your  great 
eyes,  Mildred  Powers  ;  I  know  you  think  I 
am  silly,  and  I  suppose  I  am  ;  but  I  can- 
not make  the  world  over,  and  I  don't  want 
to  try.  I  am  well  enough  suited  with  it  as 
it  ia ;  if  I  could  only  be  let  alone  in  it." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THINGS   HARD   TO   EXPLAIN. 

MILDRED'S  eyes  grew  thoughtful.  This 
was  a  new  phase  of  life  to  her,  and 
must  be  studied. 

"  But  Fannie,"  she  said,  again,  "  I  don't 
think  I  understand.  I  am  a  stranger,  and 
will  have  to  be  introduced.  Does  that  seem 
a  trial  to  you  ?  " 

Fannie  laughed,  though  there  was  not 
much  sound  of  mirth  in  the  laughter. 

"I  don'-t  believe  you  are  such  a  little 
goose  as  you  pretend,"  she  said.  "  Why 
can't  you  understand,  by  instinct,  what  is 
beyond  my  powers  of  explanation,  Kate  is 
all  very  well,  and  I  like  her,  and  am  glad 
she  has  a  chance  to  stay  in  a  respectable 
home.  I  am  glad,  for  her  sake  and  for 
mine.  If  she  were  not  here  to  wash  the 
58 


THINGS    HARD   TO    EXPLAIN.  59 

dishes  and  set  the  tables,  I  should  have  it 
all  to  do.  I  don't  respect  her  any  less  be- 
cause she  is  at  work  for  her  board ;  in  fact 
I  think  a  great  deal  more  of  her  than  I 
should  if  she  had  been  willing  to  fold  her 
hands  at  home  and  cry  over  her  miser}r. 
But  there  are  people  in  the  world  who  do 
not  feel  so ;  and  if  your  big  eyes  have  not 
found  that  out  before,  it  is  time  they  did. 
I  know  as  well  as  I  want  to  know,  that 
there  will  be  people  at  that  picnic  to-day  who 
would  not  speak  to  Kate  if  I  introduced 
her ;  and  others  who  would  speak  so  coldly, 
that  if  I  were  the  victim  I  would  rather 
they  would  not  speak  at  all;  and  others 
who  will  be  pleasant  enough  to  her  face, 
but  who  will  say,  at  the  first  opportunity, 
that  it  was  *  rather  queer  in  Fannie  Cope- 
land  to  thrust  that  Hartzell  girl  into  the 
company  —  she  doesn't  belong  to  our  set ! ' 
And  I  know  just  how  they  will  curl  their 
noses  all  up  in  little  wrinkles.  I  tell  you 
I  hate  to  go  through  with  it.  What  is  the 
use  in  pretending  ignorance  ?  You  know, 
just  as  well  I  do,  that  to  introduce  Kate 


6O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Hartzell,  who  washes  dishes  for  her  board 
in  my  mother's  kitchen,  and  to  introduce 
Mildred  Powers,  whose  father  was  Judge 
Powers,  of  Washington,  are  two  different 
things." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mildred,  slowly,  her  fair 
cheeks  flushing  a  little,  "  I  can  see  how  a 
thing  of  this  sort  might  be  hard  under  cer- 
tain circumstances  —  that  is,  for  me.  I 
shouldn't  think  it  would  be  for  you,  Fan- 
nie ;  you  seem  to  have  more  independence 
of  character  than  most  girls.  But,  then  if 
your  mother  wishes  it"  — 

"  Yes,"  said  Fannie,  decidedly,  "  she  wishes 
it  —  thinks  I  owe  it  to  Kate  to  show  her 
so  much  kindness ;  and  I  shall  do  it,  I  sup- 
pose, or  do  at  it;  but  I  don't  pretend  to 
be  independent — not  about  such  things,  at 
least.  I  don't  like  it  at  all,  and  I  see  end- 
less embarrassments  in  the  way.  I  wish  the 
day  were  done." 

And  now  I  really  hope  that  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in.  introducing  to  your  notice  the 
various  persons  who  attended  that  picnic  on 


THINGS    HARD    TO   EXPLAIN.  6l 

that  October  afternoon.  I  mean  the  persons 
in  whom  you  are  requested  to  be  especially 
interested.  Those  who  went  were  really  num- 
bered by  the  hundreds,  and  some  of  them 
3-011  will  doubtless  meet  more  or  less  fre- 
quently. .  But  these  few  whom  I  have 
selected  from  the  crowd  had  their  life-story 
curiously  interwoven  that  afternoon,  and  none 
of  them  were  less  aware  of  it  than  the 
parties  themselves. 

The  day  was  a  perfect  autumn  one  — 
crisp,  you  will  remember,  in  the  morning ; 
bright  and  cool  all  day,  though  not  too 
cool  for  the  fairest  of  summer  dresses  — 
pure  white.  The  picnic  party  reveled  in 
them  that  day  —  the  more  lavishly,  perhaps,  ' 
because  the  autumn  leaves  with  which  many 
of  them  were  glorified  said  that  the  time  of 
such  attire  was  short.  The  days  were  has- 
tening when  the  gray  old  earth  would  as- 
sert her  claim  to  white  robes,  and  bury  the 
autumn  leaves  so  deep  that  they  would  lose 
their  glorious  tints  and  crumble  into  dust. 

The   party     from     the    Copeland    home   had 
managed     the    preliminaries    fairly    well,    and 


62  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

succeeded  in  reaching  the  picnic  ground  in 
an  amicable  state  of  mind.  Mildred  was 
dressed,  and  waiting  in  the  neat  little  par- 
lor, when  Charlie  Lambert  arrived.  It  was 
Mrs.  Copeland  who  had  introduced  the  two, 
but  it  was  Fannie  Copeland  who  had  gayly 
explained  to  the  gentleman  in  the  morning 
just  who  her  guest  was. 

"  She  is  Judge  Powers'  daughter ;  yes,  I 
mean  the  great  Judge  Powers  of  Washing- 
ton. You  didn't  know  his  daughter  was  my 
best  friend  at  school,  did  you  ?  Perhaps  I'll 
be  a  lawyer,  first,  Charlie  Lambert.  She 
ought  to  have  inherited  some  of  her  father's 
knowledge.  She  has  his  ponderous  old  books 
stored  in  the  room  next  to  hers,  and  goes 
there,  sometimes,  to  cry  over  them  and  wish 
she  could  see  him  studying  them  again.  She 
told  me  all  about  it.  She  almost  worshipped 
her  father.  No,  she  is  the  only  child  — 
the  son  died,  I  believe.  I  know  Mildred 
had  a  brother,  but  he"  must  have  died  when 
he  was  a  child.  You  ought  to  feel  yourself 
highly  honored.  You  will  be  the  first  of 
my  friends  to  meet  her." 


THINGS    HARD    TO   EXPLAIN.  63 

So  Charlie  presented  himself  in  due  time 
in  careful  costume  prepared  to  do  honor  to 
the  honor  bestowed  on  him.  Mildred,  in 
white  robes  and  blue  ribbons,  looked  fair 
enough  for  the  perfect  day ;  and  they  sat 
and  chatted,  the  gentleman  in  no  wise  dis- 
turbed that  Fannie  was  tardy  in  making  her 
appearance.  When,  during  the  next  few 
minutes,  Kate  came  into  the  room,  sent  by 
Fannie  to  ask  some  important  question  of 
Mildred,  it  was  Mildred's  quiet  voice  who 
said,  "  Mr.  Lambert,  Miss  Hartzell,"  and 
Kate  bowed  quietly,  and,  in  her  freshly 
laundried  dress,  looked  pretty  enough  for  the 
occasion.  What  mattered  it  that  the  dress 
was  only  an  eight-cent  print  ?  The  tiny 
blue  dots  sprinkled  all  over  it,  seemed  to 
make  the  white  of  the  groundwork  gleam 
whiter  still.  It  was  made  with  the  neat- 
ness and  care  which  some  girls  bestow  on 
costlier  fabrics,  and  became  her  well.  Cer- 
tainly Charlie  Lambert  neither  knew  nor 
cared  that  it  was  not  such  a  dress  as  the  most 
of  his  set  would  approve.  lie  did  not  know 
who  she  was.  I  do  not  think  it  would  have 


64  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

made  the  least  difference  with  his  bow  if 
he  had  known  ;  there  were  some  things 
about  which  Charlie  Lambert  was  not  silly. 
The  walk  to  the  depot  was  also  pleasantly 
accomplished.  Mildred  linked  her  arm  in  Kate's 
before  they  were  fairly  off  the  piazza,  leaving 
Charlie  free  to  bestow  his  attentions  on  Fan- 
nie. By  this  arrangement  he  could  carry  on  a 
bantering  conversation  with  Fannie  in  the  ef- 
fervescent way  in  which  he  was  apt  to  con- 
verse, and  draw  Mildred  constantly  into  the 
talk  by  appealing  to  her  for  advice  or  con- 
firmation. It  did  not  in  the  least  disturb 
him  that  there  was  another  "  nice  "-looking 
girl  added  to  his  company.  He  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  inquire  who  her  father 
was,  or  where  she  came  from.  It  was 
enough  that  she  was  pretty  and  neat  and 
knew  how  to  put  in  a  bright  word  occa- 
sionally, though  for  the  most  part  Kate 
maintained  a  discreet  silence.  She  was  on 
new  ground  and  meant  to  feel  her  way. 
It  was  between  four  and  five  o'clock  that, 
by  a  sort  of  common  consent,  the  large 
company  of  pleasure-seekers  who  thronged 


THINGS    HARD    TO    EXPLAIN.  6$ 

the  grounds  that  day  began  to  gather  in 
little  congenial  groups  and  dispose  them- 
selves comfortably  to  enjoy  the  coliation. 
Iniskets  were  being  opened,  and  delicate 
sandwiches  and  puffy  biscuits  and  plates  of 
chicken  and  jars  of  pickles  began  to  make 
their  appearance.  Circling  under  the  branches 
of  one  of  the  largest  old  trees  that  crowned 
the  cliff,  in  convenient  nearness  to  one  of 
the  great  flat  stones  which  was  to  do  duty 
as  a  table,  gathered  a  group,  which,  partly 
by  accident  and  partly  by  design,  were  to 
make  one  circle  during  refreshments.  The 
central  figure  was  Mr.  Durant,  the  gentle- 
man in  whose  honor  the  picnic  first  had  its 
birth.  He  was  a  fine-looking,  well-built  man, 
hardly  having  reached  the  prime  of  life  as 
yet ;  indeed,  there  were  constantly  conflicting 
opinions  as  to  his  age  ;  some  asserting  that 
he  could  not  be  thirty  yet,  and  others 
equally  certain  that  he  was  at  least  thirty- 
five.  However  that  might  be,  he  was  un- 
doubtedly a  man  fitted  to  -  command  atten- 
tion, even  though  he  had  not  been  known 
as  one  who  drew  crowded  houses  night  after 


66  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

night  on    his    favorite    theme.     The    people    of 
Eastwood  had  never   been   so  fortunate   as   to 
hear  him    speak,  but    they  had  heard    of   him, 
and     considered    their     town     highly    honored 
in    having   him   as   its   guest    for    two  days    of 
his   vacation.     Mr.    Cleveland,    his   friend    and 
host,    who   sat  just  opposite    him,  leaning   one 
arm   on    the   stone    table    at  his    left,  deserves 
more     of     an    introduction    than    he    has     re- 
ceived.    The    truth    is,    Eastwood    itself    was 
not  very  well  acquainted  with  Mr.   Cleveland. 
He  was  comparatively  a  new-comer.      He    had 
bought  a  fine  old  place  just  in  the  outskirts  of 
the   town,   had   made  certain  much-needed  im- 
provements  in  it,   and   had  settled  his  mother 
there   as    its   mistress,  and    seemed  to  make  it 
his    headquarters.     Eastwood    was    divided    as 
to   what    Mr.  Cleveland's  business  was.      Some 
believed    that   he    was   a     travelling    salesman 
for    a    wholesale      house       in     Boston,     others 
that     he     had     an     interest      in     certain    iron 
mines     in    the    western    part   of     the    country, 
and   still    others   thought  that   he   was    a    gen- 
tleman  of  leisure,    and    travelled   for    pleasure 
and    improvement.     However     that      may     be, 


THINGS    HARD   TO   EXPLAIN.  6/ 

he  certainly  travelled  a  great  deal ;  not  hav- 
ing spent  two  consecutive  weeks  in  his  new 
home  since  he  moved  to  it  in  the  spring. 
The  verdict  of  society  at  Eastwood  was  that 
he  was  fine-looking,  well-educated,  probably 
aristocratic  and  a  trifle  exclusive.  If  Fan- 
nie Copeland  had  told  all  which  was  pass- 
ing in  her  mind  in  the  morning,  she  would 
have  admitted  that  it  was  this  gentleman's 
opinion  of  her  attempt  at  mixing  society 
by  bringing  Kate  Hartzell  in  her  train, 
which  had  troubled  her.  She  had  met  Mr. 
Cleveland  and  admired  his  fine  eyes,  and 
grave  smile,  as  did  most  of  the  other  young 
ladies,  and  had  a  general  desire  to  stand 
well  in  his  estimation.  It  would  be  a  trial 
to  her  to  have  him  think  that  "  Old  Hart- 
zell's"  daughter  was  her  friend  and  com- 
panion. 

She  sat  quite  near  to  him  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  he  had  just  plucked  the  dainti- 
est little  fern,  and  past  it  to  her,  with  a 
remark  on  its  delicate  veining,  and  a  hint 
that  it  contrasted  well  with  the  autumn 
leaves  at  her  breast,  and  she,  with  a  little 


68  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

flush  on  her  face  had  added  it  to  the  bou- 
quet, and  felt  improved  in  every  way. 

Miss  Hannah  Wainwright  was  also  of  this 
company  and  sat  bolt  upright  on  an  un- 
compromising stump,  without  the  aid  of  sup- 
porting branches.  She  had  really  been  the 
first  to  seat  herself,  and  the  company  had 
gradually  gathered  about  her. 

Mr.  Cleveland  sauntering  along  the 
stream  with  his  friend,  had  spied  her,  and 
said  : 

"Durant,  let  us  take  a  Beat  up  there,  and 
wait  for  supper ;  I  see  my  friend,  Miss 
Wainwright,  has  settled  herself  as  though 
she  meant  to  stay  for  some  time,  and  I 
want  you  to  hear  her  talk." 

A  moment  after  came  Charlie  Lambert, 
springing  skilfully  over  a  fallen  tree  that 
impeded  his  path,  and  making  a  passable 
following  for  Fannie  Copeland. 

"Let's  go  up  there,"  he  said,  "they  are 
getting  ready  for  supper,  and  if  there  is 
anything  better  in  a  crowd  than  Auntie 
Wainwright  can  produce  out  of  her  great 
brown  basket,  I  shall  be  astonished.  You 


THINGS    HARD    TO    EXPLAIN.  69 

never  tasted  such  sandwiches  as  she  can 
make,  Miss  Powers." 

He  had  glanced,  as  he  spoke,  at  the 
couple  coming  more  slowly  behind  them. 
It  was  Mildred  and  Lloyd  McLean.  He  had 
come  to  the  picnic  after  all. 

"It  was  an  accident,"  he  said,  laughing, 
coming  np  panting,  and  swinging  himself 
on  the  train  after  it  was  in  motion,  stop- 
ping before  Charlie  Lambert  as  the  first 
one  whom  he  recognized.  "  Where  is  Bruce  ? 
Have  you  seen  anything  of  him  ?  I  told 
him  I  wasn't  going,  and  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  I  found  that  two  of  the  clerks,  who 
expected  to  be  away,  had  changed  their 
plans,  so  that  gave  me  my  freedom.  Who 
all  are  here?  I  have  made  no  plans,  and 
have  no  friends ;  somebody  will  have  to 
take  me  in.  I  am  afraid  Bruce  did  not  go ; 
he  said  lie  wouldn't;  but  I  could  have 
coaxed  him  into  it  if  I  could  have  found 
him.  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Copeland? 
Can't  you  take  pity  on  the  unfortunate, 
and  smuggle  me  into  some  circle?  I  don't 
belong  anywhere." 


/O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

He  looked  bright  enough,  and  fascinating 
enough  to  belong  anywhere.  Fannie,  to 
whom  a  new  face  was  pleasant,  and  who 
had  known  Charlie  Lambert  all  her  life, 
would  have  had  not  the  slightest  objection 
to  making  a  place  beside  herself  for  him  if 
it  could  have  been  done,  but  Mildred  had 
taken  the  lead  the  moment  they  boarded 
the  train,  motioning  Kate  to  the  seat  by  the 
window,  and  taking  the  vacant  one  beside 
her.  They  were  just  ahead  of  her  now,  and 
Mildred  was  talking  in  an  animated  tone, 
and  Kate  was  listening,  her  face  bright  with 
pleasure.  It  was  certainly  very  kind  in" 
Mildred  to  take  so  much  pains  for  Kate 
Hartzell. 

Lloyd  McLean's  eyes  followed  hers,  and 
wondered  who  the  two  were.  He  deter- 
mined to  learn,  if  he  could. 

"Lambert,  where  is  somebody  to  intro- 
duce me  to  ?  I  don't  see  a  person  in  this 
car,  save  yourself  and  Miss  Copeland,  with 
whom  I  am  sufficiently  acquainted  to  speak. 
I  shall  have  to  throw  myself  off  the  train 
if  there  is  no  place  where  I  will  fit  in." 


THINGS    HARD    TO    EXPLAIN.  /I 

Fannie  Copeland  laughed,  and  resolved  to 
keep  this  merry  young  man  in  their  train 
if  she  could. 

"  I  will  introduce  you,"  she  said,  leaning 
forward,  "  to  my  friend,  Miss  Powers,  of 
Washington,  Mr.  McLean." 

Mildred  turned  and  gave  her  hand  and 
her  smile  of  greeting,  and  .  Mr.  McLean, 
bowing  his  thanks,  accepted  the  arm  of 
Lambert's  seat,  in  lieu  of  a  vacancy,  and 
proceeded  to  make  himself  as  entertaining 
as  he  could  to  this  rarely  pretty  face.  But 
Mildred  had  another  introduction  to  make. 

"  Let  me  introduce  Miss  Hartzell,  Mr. 
McLean." 

Fannie,  listening,  felt  her  face  clouding 
a  little.  Why  need  Mildred  introduce  her 
to  everybody  ?  She  surely  could  not  ex- 
pect that ;  and  Mr.  McLean  was  a  stranger. 
He  might  not  like  such  general  introduc- 
tions. 

Charlie  Lambert  saw  the  shadowed  face, 
and  searched  for  the  cause. 

"By  the  way,  Fannie,  who  is  that  pretty 
little  party  with  your  friend?  Her  face 


72  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

looks  rather  familiar,  but  I  can  not  recollect 
having  seen  her  before?" 

Fannie's  lip  curled  a  little;  she  could  not 
help  it ;  she  was  a  good  deal  tried. 

"  You  may  have  seen  her  a  hundred 
times,  but  I  don't  suppose  you  recognized 
her  as  an  acquaintance.  If  Mildred  intro- 
duced you,  too,  I  should  have  thought  you 
would  have  noticed  the  name." 

"The  name!  Why,  what  has  that  — 
Hartzell  —  why,  Fannie,  she  has  nothing  in 
common  with  Old  Hartzell  down  on  the  Flats, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  You  are  certainly  justified  in  supposing 
SO,  but  for  all  that  she  is  his  daughter." 

"Not   old    Joe    Hartzell's   daughter!" 

"Yes,   just    that." 

Charlie  Lambert  was  a  very  well-bred 
young  man ;  he  paid  some  attention  to  the 
customs  of  polite  society,  and  always  wore 
faultless  cravats,  of  just  the  right  shade, 
and  was  careful  about  his  gloves,  and  his 
perfumes,  and  a  dozen  other  little  tilings ; 
nevertheless,  he  forgot  himself,  and  gave 
vent  to  a  whistle.  A  low  one,  cut  short 


THINGS    HARD   TO    EXPLAIN.  73 

suddenly ;  Fannie  heard  it,  and  it  repre- 
sented to  her  something  of  what  society  would 
think  of  her  if  she  had  introduced  Old  Joe 
Harwell's  daughter  to  it. 

Young  Lambert  hastened  to  recover  him- 
self. 

"It  doesn't  seem  possible  that  such  a 
pretty,  ladylike-looking  girl  can  be  a  rela- 
tive of  that  set.  Where  did  you  pick  her 
up,  Fannie  ?  " 

"I  didn't  pick  her  up.  Mother  became 
interested  in  her  because  she  seemed  to  try 
to  learn  her  lesson  in  Sabbath-school,  and 
was  quick  to  take  a  hint.  She  was  sorry 
for  her,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  try  to 
help  her.  She  is  living  at  our  house  now, 
working  for  her  board.  She  is  a  nice,  good 
girl." 

Fannie  hurried  through  the  story,  her 
color  deepening  as  she  talked.  Kate  should 
have  utmost  justice  at  her  hands,  but  it 
was  hard  to  think  that  she  must  introduce 
her. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOCIETY   CIKCLES. 

AH,"  Charlie  said,  "a  case  of  benevo- 
lence ?  Well,  she  is  certainly  a  nice- 
looking  little  girl ;  one  wouldn't  dream  of 
her  antecedents." 

His  gracious  tone  said  that"  Fannie's 
mother  was  to  be  commended  for  a  kind 
act ;  and  then  he  dismissed  Kate  Hartzell 
from  his  mind.  That  she  had  anything 
whatever  to  do  with  his  conscience  was  an 
idea  which  had  riot  for  a  moment  entered 
his  mind.  What  was  Old  Joe  Hartzell's 
daughter  to  him  ? 

All  this  time  the  group  under  the  spread- 
ing tree  are  waiting  for  their  supper.  But 
the  digression  describes,  among  other  things, 
how  Lloyd  McLean  chances  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  Mildred  Powers.  He  found  her 
74 


SOCIETY   CIRCLES.  75 

pleasant  company,  and,  in  a  sense,  attached 
himself  to  her.  Not  that  he  was  disagree- 
ably or  exclusively  attentive.  When  the 
train  reached  the  picnic  grounds  he  found 
plenty  of  friends,  but  it  suited  his  mood  to 
hover  near  the  party  which  he  had  first 
joined,  and  to  bestow  more  or  less  attention 
on  Mildred  and  Kate  Hartzell.  He  had 
not  discovered  who  Kate  Hartzell  was.  If 
he  gave  her  any  thought  at  all,  he  *  supposed 
her  to  be  a  guest  at  the  Copelands. 

"Is  that  lady  aunt  to  all  this  company?" 
This  was  Mildred's  somewhat  astonished 
question  in  answer  to  young  Lambert's  re- 
mark about  the  sandwiches  which  he  made 
a  few  pages  back.  "  I  have  heard  at  least 
a  dozen  persons  speak  of  her  this  afternoon 
I  should  think,  and  call  her  Aunt  Wain- 
wright." 

Charlie    Lambert    laughed. 

"I  know  it;  and  it  is  rather  a  singular 
thing.  We  all  clain  her  as  aunt,  and  she 
is  not  related  to  any  of  us.  It  can  not  be 
accounted  for  on  the  ground  that  she  is 
particularly  winning  ID  her  manners,  for  I 


76  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

consider  her  rather  sharp  than  otherwise. 
Don't  you,  Fannie?" 

"  I  don't  know  her  very  well,"  Fannie 
said,  "  but  I  have  heard  that  she  could  be 
sarcastic  when  she  chose.  I  think  people 
fell  into  the  habit  of  calling  her  'auntie' 
years  ago,  when  she  had  a  host  of  nephews 
and  nieces  about  her.  She  belongs  to  one 
of  the  old  families,  Mildred,  who  lived  here 
before  Eastwood  was  a  town ;  but  her  rel- 
atives are  all  scattered,  and  she  lives  alone 
in  a  lovely  place,  and  is  rich,  and  people 
like  to  get  invited  to  roam  through  her 
grounds,  and  eat  her  chickens  and  cream. 
We  wouldn't  any  of  us  mind  having  her 
for  a  *  truly '  auntie,  as  the  children  say." 

"She  is  an  original  character  to  talk," 
said  Charlie.  "I  always  give  her  a  chance 
at  me,  because  I  like  to  hear  her  go  on. 
She  is  an  old  school  friend  of  my  mother, 
and  has  special  jurisdiction  over  me  in  con- 
sequence; and  she  doesn't  spare  me,  I  as- 
sure you.  I  ought  to  be  worth  something 
after  she  gets  me  brought  up.  Do  you  know 
her,  McLean?  Then  you  ought  to;  she  is 


SOCIETY    CIRCLES.  77 

a  rich  character  to  study.  Let's  all  go  up 
there,  and  I'll  give  you  an  introduction. 
The  hero  of  the  day  is  there,  too ;  perhaps 
we  will  be  treated  to  a  free  temperance 
lecture." 

And  this  was  why  they  mounted  the  hill, 
and  sat  down  by  the  rock  with  the  stream 
gurgling  below  them. 

Several  others,  by  accident  or  design, 
strolled  that  way  and  were  cordially  wel- 
comed. Not  very  fur  from  them  a  brisk 
fire  was  burning,  and  a  committee  of  those 
long-suffering  people  who  always  do  the 
work  at  all  picnics  were  engaged  in  mak- 
ing coffee,  roasting  corn,  and  in  various 
other  ways  preparing  to  regale  the  groups. 
The  general  arrangements  of  this  picnic 
were  somewhat  unique.  At  least  they 
would  have  been  in  any  other  town.  The 
people  of  Eastwood  had  the  matter  reduced 
to  a  science.  It  was  fully  understood  that 
those  fortunate  persons,  whether  gentlemen 
or  ladies,  who  came  from  homes,  should 
bring  with  them  well-stored  baskets,  with 
bread,  and  cake,  and  whatever  they  or 


78  ONE  COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

their  home  party  needed  to  make  a  sub- 
stantial meal ;  always,  of  course,  adding  a. 
little  for  the  benefit  of  those  unfortunates 
who  had  no  homes,  but  lived  in  boarding- 
houses.  They,  on  their  part,  were  sure  to 
be  laden  with  coffee,  sugar,  lemons,  pickles, 
anything  that  was  buyable  at  first-class 
groceries.  Then  each  individual  who  joined  a 
group  understood  that  his  or  her  basket 
would  be  presently  confiscated  by  a  committee 
appointed  by  the  said  group,  and  in  due 
time  a  collation  would  be  served,  consist- 
ing of  something  from  his  own  basket,  if 
he  could  pick  it  out,  and  something  from 
all  the  other  baskets  belonging  to  the 
clique.  The  great  fire,  built  up  scientifically 
under  a  certain  tree,  did  duty  for  the  en- 
tire party.  The  great  boiler  of  coffee  sent 
out  its  appetizing  signal  when  ready,  and 
as  many  pitchers,  or  pails,  or  coffi-e  pots, 
as  were  forwarded  from  the  various  groups 
were  promptly  filled  from  the  generous 
boiler.  It  is  certainly  a  very  nice  way  to 
have  a  picnic ;  except,  perhaps,  for  the 
people  who  manage  the  coffee,  and  feed  the 


SOCIETY   CIRCLES.  79 

fires,  and  roast  the  corn,  or  the  apples  or  what- 
ever is  to  be  rousted  besides  their  own 
faces. 

Well,  now  you  understand,  or  at  least 
if  you  knew  Miss  Wainvvright,  you  could 
think  of  several  reasons  why  the  spot  where 
she  was  seated  would  be  a  favorite  one. 
People  well  acquainted  with  her  knew  that 
her  brown  basket  was  very  large,  and  that 
the  glass  cans  set  in  a  pail  of  ice,  which 
accompanied  the  brown  basket,  would  be 
filled  with  genuine  cream,  skimmed  from, 
four  quart  pans  which  had  been  all  the 
morning  in  Miss  Wainwright's  stone  dairy, 
preparing  themselves  for  this  occasion. 

There  were  others,  as  I  said,  who  had 
been  i  drawn,  through  various  motives,  to 
this  same  spot.  One  was  Miss  Fleming. 
She  distinguished  herself  on  this  particular 
occasion  by  wearing  a  light  silk  dress, 
which,  she  sighingly  remarked,  spotted  if 
so  much  as  a  drop  of  water  touched  it,  "to 
siy  nothing  of  drops  of  coffee  and  cream; 
and  by  wearing  such  delicate  boots  that,  in 
jumping  a  log,  one  of  them  split  from  seam 


8O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

to  seam,  and  that  foot  had  to  be  tucked 
under  her  in  some  skilful  way,  for  the 
rest  of  the  time,  when  she  was  seated,  and 
to  be  endured  with  mortification  when  she 
walked.  While  the  coffee  was  being  served, 
and  before  the  conversation  had  become 
general,  Miss  Fleming  suddenly  addressed 
Fannie  Copeland,  with  whom  she  was  not 
on  terms  of  exceeding  intimacy: 

"  By  the  wa}r,  Miss  Copeland,  who  is  that 
girl  who  brought  you  a  pin  when  you  tore 
your  skirt  down  there  by  the  fall?  I  never 
saw  her  at  any  of  our  gatherings  before, 
that  I  remember." 

If  anybody  had  been  paying  close  atten- 
tion to  Fannie  Copeland  at  that  moment 
they  would  have  seen  that  her  cheeks 
glowed  deeper  than  the  autumn  leaves  in 
her  bouquet,  but  she  answered  promptly  — 

"  Her   name   is    Hartzell." 

"Hartzell?  Why,  I  know  that  name,  don't 
I  ?  What  makes  it  so  familiar  ?  Where  does 
she  come  from  ?  " 

"From  Eastwood,  Miss  Fleming,  on  the 
two  o'clock  train." 


SOCIETY   CIRCLES.  8 1 

"Yes,  of  course,"  laughed  Miss  Fleming, 
"but  I  mean  originally.  I  don't  know  her. 
I  thought  I  knew  all  the  girls  in  society, 
by  sight  at  least." 

Was  Miss  Fleming  obtuse  or  hateful  ? 
Fannie  would  have  given  something  to  know 
which.  Meantime,  she  waited  for  her  an- 
swer. 

"She  is  not  in  society,"  Fannie  said,  biting 
her  lips,  and  trying  to  keep  her  voice  steady, 
"but  she  lives  in  Eastwood." 

"  Indeed !  How  strange  that  I  should  not 
know  her.  Everybody  knows  everybody  else 
in  our  little  villages,  Mr.  Cleveland.  Where 
did  you  say  she  lived,  Fannie  ? " 

Fannie  had  not  said,  but,  clearly,  she  must 
do  so.  She  drew  a  long  breath ;  there  was 
no  help  for  it. 

"She  lives  with  us  just  now,  Miss  Flem- 
ing ;  her  home  is  in  Varley's  Lane." 

"Down  on    the   Flats?" 

It  would  be  impossible,  probably,  to  con- 
vey to  you  an  idea  of  what  Miss  Fleming's 
voice  expressed,  because,  you  see,  you  are 
not  acquainted  with  the  Flats  ;  but  to  thr 


82  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

initiated  that  word  meant  as  great  a  remove 
from  the  proprieties  of  life  as  Miss  Fleming, 
at  least,  was  able  in  her  imagination  to 
reach. 

"  Why,  how  very  queer  that  the  girl 
should  come  here  this  afternoon  !  How  do 
you  account  for  it,  my  dear  Miss  Copeland? 
It  must  be  quite  a  trial  to  you." 

Oh!  that  Fannie  Copeland  could  truthfully 
say  it  was  not  a  trial;  that  she  was  glad  to 
have  her  enjoy  the  lovely  afternoon  ;  but  the 
bitter  truth  was,  that  from  the  moment  of 
their  starting  up  to  this  time,  Kate  Hart- 
zell  had  been  a  trial  to  her.  If  she  was 
in  the  group,  the  embarrassing  question  was 
what  to  do  with  her ;  to  whom  to  intro- 
duce her.  Who  would  treat  her  kindly, 
and  make  the  day  as  pleasant  for  her  as 
possible  ?  Who  would  consider  it  an  in- 
sult to  be  presented  to  her?  And  con- 
stantly revolving  these  trying  questions  in 
her  mind,  Fannie  had  thus  far  been  un- 
able to  settle  them,  and  had  shirked  all  in- 
troductions, leaving  Kate  to  care  for  her- 
self. Still  when  she  lost  sight  of  her,  it 


SOCIETY    CIRCLES.  83 

was  not  much  better.  The  question  then 
w;is:  What  was  Kate  doing?  Where  was 
she?  Had  she  anybody  to  talk  with?  Was 
she  having  a  miserable  time?  Fannie  liked 
her  well  enough  to  wish  it  were  possible 
for  her  to  have  a  good  time,  and  yet  not 
trouble  her  in  any  way.  How  silly  it  had 
been  in  the  girl  to  go  to  such  a  place ! 
How  mistaken  mother  was  in  supposing 
that  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  This 
was  always  the  spot  to  which  poor  Fannie's 
thoughts  returned. 

Yet  here  was  this  dreadful  Miss  Flem- 
ing waiting  for  her  answer.  Before  it  was 
ready,  Miss  Wainwright  had  asked  a  ques- 
tion : 

"Isn't  the  girl  respectable,  Miss  Flem- 
ing?" 

Miss  Fleming  shrugged  her  narrow  shoul- 
ders, and  drew  a  breadth  of  her  dress  away 
from  Charlie  Lambert's  coffee-cup. 

"  Respectable,  my  dear  Miss  Wainwright, 
how  should  I  know?  We  will  hope  so; 
why,  we  must  accept  it,  of  course,  since 
Miss  Copeland  indorses  her.  Or,  I  suppose, 


84  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

that  isn't  quite  fair ;  you  couldn't  help  her 
coming  to  a  public  picnic  if  she  took  a 
fancy  of  that  sort,  I  presume.  Why,  Miss 
Wainwright,  you  surely  know  the  condition 
of  the  Flats;  the  girl  must  be  a  relative 
of  that  Old  Joe  Hartzell  if  she  lives  down 
there.  Is  she  really,  Miss  Copeland?" 

"  She  is   his   daughter." 

Miss  Fleming  exclaimed  in  dismay,  and 
then  further  explained : 

"  My  dear  Miss  Wainwright,  he  is  one  of 
the  worst  drunkards  on  the  Flats ! " 

"  Well,  I  should  think  that,  as  far  as  it 
went,  was  an  excellent  reason  why  his  daughter 
should  be  entitled  to  sympathy." 

"To  sympathy,  oh!  yes;  but  we  are  hardly 
bound  to  make  an  intimate  associate  of  her, 
I  suppose." 

This  with  a  disagreeable  little  laugh  which 
in  no  wise  disconcerted  Miss  Wainwright. 

"  That  would  have  to  depend  on  her  in- 
dividual merit,  I  should  say.  The  mere  cir- 
cumstance of  her  father  having  become  a 
drunkard  has  nothing  to  do  with  her  in- 
dividual worth,  has  it  ?  I  believe  in  young 


SOCIETY    CIRCLES.  85 

women  not  associating  with  those  who  drink. 
I  honor  your  exclusiveness  in  that  direction ; 
but  when  it  comes  to  excluding  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  drunkards,  who  are  in  no 
wise  responsible  for  their  father's  sins,  isn't 
that  rather  hard?" 

There  was  that  about  this  sentence  which 
made  Miss  Fleming  wince.  At  least,  several 
persons  in  the  group  knew  that  she  was 
not  noted  for  exclusiveness  for  the  cause 
assigned.  On  the  contrary,  young  Pierson, 
who  had  at  all  times  the  entree  of  her 
father's  house,  and  was  on  very  familiar 
terms  with  his  daughter,  was  himself  almost 
what  might  be  styled  a  drunkard.  But, 
then,  his  father  did  not  live  on  the  Flats  ; 
in  fact,  he  owned  the  finest  hotel  in  East- 
wood, beside  a  great  deal  of  other  valuable 
property,  and  was  a  candidate  for  the  Leg- 
islature. 

Miss  Fleming  answered  with  some  as- 
perity : 

"Oh!  I  have  not  the  slightest  objection  to 
Miss  Copeland's  choosing  her  friends  from 
whom  she  will,  of  course ;  it  was  merely  a 


86  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

passing    curiosity.     I   knew   the    girl   was   not 
in    our   set." 

This  sentence  did  not  help  Fannie  Cope- 
hind  ;  neither  did  what  followed.  It  so  hap- 
pened that  Mildred  had  been  absent  from 
the  group  when  this  conversation  com- 
menced, having  been  challenged  by  Lloyd 
McLean  to  step  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
rock  which  leaned  daringly  over  the  chasm 
below,  in  order  to  get  a  view  which,  in 
his  judgment,  could  be  had  from  no  other 
point.  She  had  tried  it,  and  returned  in 
safety,  in  time,  not  to  hear  anything  which 
had  been  said,  but  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
Kate  Hiirtzell  standing  alone  at  the  base  of 
the  hill,  a  look  of  embarrassment  and  irreso- 
luteness  on  her  face ;  she  was  beginning  to 
feel  that  she  belonged  nowhere.  Groups 
were  gathering  for  supper;  nobody  had  in- 
vited her ;  nobody,  so  far,  had  made  it  pos- 
sible for  her  to  join  them.  Indeed,  none 
of  them  had  thought  of  it,  save  Fannie 
Copeland,  and  she  had  studiously  avoided 
being  in  Kate's  vicinity  for  the  last  hour. 
Now,  if  poor  Kate  had  any  supper  to  which 


SOCIETY   CIRCLES.  8/ 

she  was  entitled,  it  certainly  reposed  in  the 
willow  basket  which  she  had  herself  car- 
ried to  the  train.  But  she  felt  that  it  would 
be  mucli  easier  to  go  supperless  than  it 
would  be  to  climb  that  hill  alone  with  the 
eyes  of  all  the  company  on  the  rocks  watch- 
ing her,  and  take  her  seat  among  them. 
What  a  pity  that  she  had  been  tempted 
into  going  to  the  picnic !  Her  better  judg- 
ment had  told  her  not  to  do  it;  but  Mrs. 
Copeland  had  so  kindly  urged  it  and  Fan- 
nie, since  she  came  home  from  school,  had 
been  so  pleasant,  and  it  had  seemed  as 
though  it  would  be  no  nice  to  belong,  just 
for  once,  that  she  had  yielded ;  but  she 
would  never,  no,  never,  try  to  be  anybody 
a^ain  !  A  good  deal  of  this  bitterness  was 
in  her  face  as  she  stood  down  there,  un- 
certain where  to  go,  knowing  no  place  to 
hide  from  eyes.  Mildred  saw  her  distinctly 
and  spoke  distinctly  about  her: 

"  Why,  Fannie,  there  is  Kate  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill  looking  deserted ;  oughtn't  you 
to  call  her  up?" 

Poor    Fannie,    who    was    being    tried    in    a 


88  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

way  that  Mildred,  with  her  different  nature, 
could  hardly  understand,  answered  sharply : 

"  She  certainly  knows  enough  to  come 
up  here,  if  she  wishes,  without  waiting  for 
me  to  call  her  ;  she  is  not  my  special 
charge,  Mildred,  though  everybody  seems  de- 
termined to  suppose  so".M 

Mildred,  not  having  heard  the  conversa- 
tion, and  not  seeing  then  the  look  of  sup- 
pressed amusement  on  Miss  Fleming's  face, 
felt  only  surprise  at  Fannie's  tones,  but 
turned  from  her  and  gave  attention  to  the 
young  girl  at  the  foot,  her  voice  sounding 
out  clearly  among  the  hills  : 

"  Come  up,  Kate ;  supper  is  ready,  and 
there  is  just  room  for  you." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  !  "  said  Miss 
Fleming;  "we  are  crowded  a  little  as  it  is." 

A  sudden  light,  as  of  one  who  had  seen 
a  rift  in  the  cloud  of  her  gloom,  came  over 
the  face  below,  but  Kate  shook  her  head ; 
she  could  see  Fannie  Copeland's  face. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  I 
want  any  supper.  I  will  walk  down  the 
ravine  a  little  way." 


SOCIETY    CIRCLES.  89 

At  this  point  Mr.  Cleveland  arose  from 
his  position  on  an  overhanging  cliff  and 
crossed  the  table-land  which  separated  him 
from  Mildred. 

"  The  ascent  is  rather  ugly  for  a  lady 
alone,  Miss  Powers  ;  but  if  you  do  not  mind 
it,  suppose  I  pilot  you  down  to  your  friend, 
then  I  will  engage  to  see  you  both  landed 
safety  on  this  very  platform  ready  for  cof- 
fee." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mildred,  brightly,  "  I 
shall  be  very  glad,  indeed,  to  go." 

And  they  made  the  descent  rapidly,  leav- 
ing a  group  in  various  stages  of  surprise  to 
gaze  after  them.  As  for  Fannie,  her  face 
was  in  a  flame. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SHALL  WE  TRY? 

HE  appears  to  be  working  out  the  verse," 
said  Miss  Wainwright,  gazing  after 
the  descending  couple  thoughtfully,  and  speak- 
ing aloud  to  herself  rather  than  to  any  of 
the  circle. 

"  What  verse  is  that,  Miss  Wainwright  ? " 
It  was  Mr.  Durant's  voice.  He  had  been 
enjoying  this  woman  all  the  afternoon,  after 
the  fashion  of  a  student  of  human  nature 
when  he  meets  with  an  original  character  to 
study.  He  spoke,  now,  with  the  air  of  one 
who  expected  an  enjoyable  reply. 

"It  is  a  verse  I  stumbled  on  this  morn- 
ing, that  has  been  puzzling  me  all  day," 
she  said,  turning  her  gray  eyes  on  the 
questioner,  her  face  saying,  almost  as  plainly 
as  words  could:  I  wonder  if  it  is  worth 
90 


SHALL    \VE    TRY?  QI 

while  to  tell  you  anything  about  it?  Could 
you  help,  do  you  suppose?  "It  has  been  in 
my  Bible  all  these  years,  of  course  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose I've  always  read  it  in  an  unknown  tongue 
until  this  morning ;  anyway,  it  never  brought 
me  right  up  breathless  as  it  did  to-day. 
Why,  it  is  about  the  eating  and  drinking 
and  eveiything  else  in  life.  '  Whether  there- 
fore ye  eat  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do, 
do  all  to  the  glory  of  God.'  I  must  say  it 
stumbled  me." 

"Because  it  is  hard  to  do,  do  you  think?" 
Mr.  Durant's  voice  was  gentle,  and  the 
farthest  possible  remove  from  being  quizzical. 
In  fact,  it  said  to  the  listener  that  he  rec- 
ognized the  authority  of  her  Author,  and 
the  human  difficulties  in  the  way. 

"Because  it  seems  almost  impossible. 
Here's  this  picnic,  for  instance.  How  is  the 
rule  going  to  be  lived  up  to  in  such  a  place? 
Now  that  I've  got  my  eyes  open,  I  can't 
help  watching  to  see  who  is  doing  it,  and 
I  haven't  found  many  who  seem  to  be  even 
trying.  That  couple  down  there  may  have 
some  such  notion  in  their  minds,  though." 


92  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Mr.    Durant   was   smiling   now. 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Cleveland,  spoke  to  me 
of  having  found  you  in  a  puzzled  state  of 
mind  this  morning,  and  since  he  quoted 
the  verse  which  troubled  you,  I  have  been 
studying  him.  I  think  I  could  tell  you  of 
half  a  dozen  little  things  that  he  has  done 
since  he  came  on  the  ground  which  had 
that  great  thought  for  their  underlying 
motive ;  and  yet  I  do  not  suppose  that 
many  people  know  it.  That  has  given  me 
courage,  Miss  Wainwright.  I  have  remem- 
bered that  there  may  be  many,  at  this 
very  picnic,  who  are  engaged  in  watching 
for  opportunies,  only  we,  not  being  able  to 
read  hearts,  are  blind  to  the  efforts." 

k'That  is  true,"  Miss  Wainwright  said, 
cordially.  "  I've  often  told  myself  that  I 
was  like  an  illustrious  character  in  one 
tiling,  anyway.  I  don't  know  how  many 
times  I  have  reminded  myself  of  Elijah 
sitting  under  a  juniper-tree,  and  groaning 
that  he  wished  he  could  die,  because  he 
was  the  only  one  left  to  serve  the  Lord. 
It  always  struck  me  as  rather  small  in 


SHALL    WE    TRY  f  Q3 

Elijah  to  want  to  die  just  then,  even  if 
that  were  the  case  —  all  the  more  need  of 
his  living;  but  the  Lord  told  him  it  was  no 
such  thing ;  that  there  were  seven  thousand 
of  his  people,  even  in  that  very  country. 
I  think  that  is  one  of  the  most  encourag- 
ing things  there  is  in  the  Bible ;  but  a 
body  wants  to  read  it  about  three  times  a 
day  in  order  to  remember  it  when  we  see 
the  goings-on  that  there  are  in  these  times." 

"I  have  thought  of  this  picnic  under  the 
light  of  that  verse  to-day,  Miss  Wainwright, 
and  I  wondered  whether  a  picnic  at  East- 
wood, which  held  itself  strictly  to  coffee 
and  lemonade  for  beverages,  was  not  a  step 
in  advance.  I  was  told,  to-day,  that  there 
had  not  been  one  of  these  public  picnics 
within  the  memory  of  the  people  in  which 
wines  had  not  been  brought  along  —  at 
least  a  bottle  or  two  —  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  certain  circles." 

"That  is  true,"  Miss  Wainwright  said, 
"  and  it  has  been  one  reason  why  some 
people  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
these  public  days.  I  haven't  been  to  a 


94  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

gathering  of  the  kind  in  fifteen  years.  I 
said  last  week  that  I  would  go,  because  the 
name  of  it  was  a  temperance  picnic,  and  I 
meant  to  go  to  everything  which  had  that 
word  attached  to  it.  I  really  suppose  that 
is  a  thing  to  be  glad  of;  but  the  fact  is, 
I  was  so  engaged  in  being  ashamed  that 
it  was  not  the  case  years  ago,  that  I  sup- 
pose I  forgot  to  be  glad.  Still,  we  have  to 
thank  you  for  even  so  much.  I  suppose 
they  wouldn't  make  a  picnic  for  a  temper- 
ance lecturer,  and  then  insult  him  by  tak- 
ing any  of  the  stuff  along ;  but  if  you 
hadn't  been  here,  it  would  have  come  in 
some  form  or  other.  There  isn't  a  thing 
being  done  in  this  town  for  temperance, 
Mr.  Durant.  Why,  don't  you  think  it  your 
duty  to  stay  here  and  work  ?-  There  can't 
be  a  place  that  needs  it  worse." 

"Come  this  way,  Cleveland,"  said  Mr. 
Durant,  rising,  as  a  party  of  three  came 
slowly  up  the  hill ;  "  there  is  plent}7  of 
room  here.  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Hart- 
zell?  You  climbed  the  rocks  deftly;  I  was 
watching  you.  Take  this  seat.  Sit  down, 


SHALL    WE    TRY  ?  95 


Cleveland  ,  there  h  ample  room.  Mi>*  Ilarfc- 
zoll,  I  should  have  claimed  acquaintance  at 
once,  if  Mr.  Cleveland  had  not  introduced 
me,  because  I  used  to  have  a  friend  in 
college  of  your  name,  and  he  resembled 
you  —  John  Hartzell." 

Miss  Fleming  was  almost  betrayed  into 
a  giggle  as  well  as  a  sneer.  To  have  the 
name  of  Hartzell  associated  with  that  of  a 
college  student  struck  her  as  extremely 
amusing.  But  Kate's  answer  was  prompt 
enough  : 

"  lie    was   my   brother,   sir." 

"  I  thought  there  must  be  a  family  tie 
between  you  ;  the  likeness  is  very  marked. 
I  remember  John  well.  Where  is  he  now, 
and  what  is  he  doing,  may  I  ask?" 

For  a  full  minute,  which  of  course  seemed 
like  five,  there  was  no  answer  to  this 
question.  Kate's  eyes  were  on  the  ground, 
and  her  face  was  pale.  Curious  and  aston- 
ished eyes  were  bent  on  her.  Old  Joe 
Hartzell  having  a  son  in  college!  That, 
certainly,  was  a  revelation  to  Eastwood. 

"  He     lives    in     Eastwood,    sir  ;      but     you 


96  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

would  not  want  to  see  him ;  you  would 
never  know  that  }-ou  had  seen  him ;  lie 
has  become  a  drunkard." 

"Is  it  possible?"  Mr.  Durant's  voice  was 
full  of  pain.  "Why,  I  remember  him  as  a 
young  man  of  great  promise ;  he  was 
younger  than  I  —  was  a  junior  when  I  was 
a  senior.  It  can  not  be  ten  years  since  he 
graduated." 

"He  never  graduated,  sir.  He  left  col- 
lege in  disgrace,  caused  by  drink,  and  hae 
gone  down  steadily  ever  since." 

"  And  did  I  understand  you  to  say  that 
he  lived  in  Eastwood  ? " 

All  the  circle  listened  eagerly  for  the  an- 
swer. With  the  exception  of  Mr.  Cleve- 
land, they  were  all  more  or  less  familiar 
with  the  name  of  Old  Joe  Hartzell,  who, 
for  years,  had  been  one  of  the  worst  drunk- 
ards on  the  Flats ;  but  that  he  had  a  son 
was  news  to  them  all.  The}r  had  always 
supposed  that  this  one  daughter,  who  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  but  a  few  months 
before,  was  Old  Joe's  sole  family,  and  that 
since  she  had  left  the  hovel  in  which  he 


SHALL    WE    TRY?  97 

hid  himself  when  he  was  at  his  worst,  he 
staid  there  alone. 

"He  has  come  to  Eastwood,  sir,  within 
the  last  few  months ;  he  lives  with  my 
father,  down  at  the  •  lower  end  of  the 
town." 

44  And  your  mother,  Miss  Hartzell?  I  saw 
her  once." 

Poor  Kate's  lip  quivered,  and  two  red 
spots  glowed  on  her  cheeks. 

"  Mother  died  just  after  John  was  ex- 
pelled from  the  college.  She  escaped  the 
worst,  thank  God!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Hartzell,  for 
all  these  questions ;  they  are  not  prompted 
by  idle  curiosity.  Do  your  father  and 
brother  live  alone?" 

"  He  is  a  married  man,  sir,  and  his  wife 
is  with  them." 

Miss  Fleming  curled  her  lip  decidedly, 
and  turned  herself  quite  away  from  the 
group;  a  married  drunkard  was,  for  some 
reason,  much  less  interesting  to  her  than 
an  unmarried  one. 

"  We     are     becoming     democratic      in     our 


98  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

customs  with  almost  alarming  rapidity,  I 
think,"  she  said,  a  sneer  in  her  voice. 
"This  is  certainly  a  mixed  company.  I 
wonder  if  the  brother  and  his  wife  are 
among  the  crowd?  Perhaps  Old  Joe  him- 
self came  ;  who  knows  ?  " 

Nobody  laughed,  and  Lloyd  McLean,  who 
was  nearest  to  her,  said : 

"  I  am  glad  your  voice  is  too  low  for  the 
poor  girl  to  hear  you.  I  think  she  has 
quite  enough  to  bear." 

Miss    Fleming   tossed   her   head. 

"  Oh !  I  am  not  a  fanatic  in  any  direc- 
tion," she  said.  "  I  do  not  run  wild  on 
this  temperance  question,  in  any  of  its 
phases.  I  believe  that  gentlemen,  who  are 
worthy  of  the  name,  can  control  their  ap- 
petites, if  they  choose,  in  this  direction  as 
well  as  in  any  other ;  and  if  they  do  not, 
they  are  beasts,  and  should  be  dropped  from 
respectable  society." 

"Not  surely  while  they  are  worth  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  !  You  would  wait  until  that  is 
gone,  would  you  not,  Josie?" 

It  was   Charlie  Lambert's  mischievous  voice 


SHALL    WE   TRY?  99 

that  asked  the  question  ;  he  had  known  Miss 
Fleming  all  his  life,  and  he  knew  young 
Pierson,  also. 

The    lady   turned   toward   him    haughtily. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  intended  to  be  a  sar- 
casm at  the  expense  of  Leonard  Pierson  ? " 
she  said,  angrily.  "  I  don't  think  it  applies. 
I  suppose  Mr.  Pierson  recognizes  his  right 
to  eat  and  drink  what  he  pleases,  so  long 
as  he  disturbs  nobody.  When  he  lies  in 
the  gutter,  like  a  common  drunkard,  or 
reels  through  the  streets,  making  himself 
a  public  laughing-stock,  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  talk  about  dropping  him.  At 
present,  he  certainly  belongs  to  a  different 
set  from  Old  Joe  Hartzell." 

Her  voice  was  loud  enough,  now,  to  be 
heard  ;  but  the  attention  of  most  of  the 
circle  had  been  skilfully  drawn  in  another 
direction.  Mr.  Cleveland  had  appeared  with 
a  pitcher  of  steaming  coffee,  followed  by  a 
salver  bearing  cups,  cream  and  sugar. 

"Sit  down,  Durant,"  he  said,  "and  let 
mt  serve  you  to  some  of  the  best  coffee 
you  ever  tasted ;  here  is  real  cream  to  de- 


IOO  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

velop  it  with.  Miss  Hartzell,  let  me  sugar 
and  cream  a  cup  for  you  just  right.  There 
is  an  art  in  it ;  few  people  possess  the  se- 
cret. I  want  you  to  witness  that  I  do." 

He  resigned  his  tray  to  Charlie  Lam- 
bert, took  a  seat  beside  Kate,  and  not  only 
creamed  the  coffee,  but  succeeded  in  get- 
ting her  to  take  it,  and,  presently,  to  eat  a 
few  bits  of  the  biscuit  with  which  he  sup- 
plied her.  She  was  evidently  having  a 
struggle  with  her  tears.  They  had  threat- 
ened her  for  hours ;  but  during  this  last 
experience  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  they 
must  burst  forth  in  a  perfect  storm ;  that 
she  could  no  longer  hope  to  control  her- 
self. Mr.  Cleveland,  however,  continued 
to  talk,  in  low,  quiet  tones,  on  all  sorts  of 
commonplaces,  to  which  she  could  listen 
or  not  according  as  it  helped  her  to  do, 
and  meantime  his  form  shielded  her  per- 
fectly from  observation  ;  and  at  last,  when 
he  said,  in  an  authoritative  tone,  "  Now, 
you  are  to  take  a  swallow  of  this  coffee 
and  eat  this  biscuit,"  she  looked  up  at  him 
with  grateful  eyes,  in  which  the  tears  were 


SHALL   WE   TRY?  IOI 

standing  that  she  meant  should  not  fall, 
and  tried  to  do  as  he  said. 

When  he  saw  by  the  color  in  her  face 
that  she  was  getting  firm  control  of  her- 
self, he  leaned  toward  her  with  a  kind  — 

"  Let  me  arrange  that  shawl  a  little  more 
comfortably,"  and  spoke  low  while  he  was 
doing  it.  "  You  ought  not  to  be  hopeless, 
as  I  saw  by  your  tones  that  you  are.  You 
do  not  know  Durant ;  if  you  did,  you 
would  thank  God  on  your  knees  that  he 
used  to  be  your  brother's  friend.  He  will 
not  forget  it,  nor  him.  I  know,  now,  why 
he  could  not  carry  out  his  plans  and  go 
West  this  morning.  God  has  work  for  him 
here.  Miss  Hartzell,  Durant  has  been  as 
low  as  it  is  possible  for  any  brother  ever 
to  have  been,  and  look  at  him  now !  Pie, 
and  you,  and  I,  must  save  your  brother, 
and  scores  of  others.  Shall  we  try?" 

"I  really  believe  the  fastidious  gentleman 
is  smitten  with  Old  Joe's  daughter ! " 

It  was  a  whisper,  but  one  of  those  disa- 
greeable whispers  which  seem  to  penetrate 
space  and  make  themselves  heard  at  alarm- 


IO2  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

ing  distances.  Of  course,  Miss  Fleming  was 
the  whisperer.  Whether  Mr.  Cleveland  heard 
her  or  not,  will  never  be  known  ;  his  face 
wore  a  look  of  the  most  perfect  unconcern, 
and  he  only  said: 

"  Let  me  warm  your  coffee  a  little,  Miss 
Hartzell ;  this  breeze  blowing  around  here  is 
very  insolent." 

But  Lloyd  McLean's  face  flushed  over  the 
intended  insult,  and  he  darted  an  angry 
glance  at  the  whisperer,  just  as  Charlie  Lam- 
bert, presuming  upon  his  long  intimacy,  said 
angrily : 

"  Upon  my  word,  Josie,  I  would  have  a 
little  regard  for  humanity ;  I  think  the  poor 
girl  has  had  enough  to  bear." 

Meantime,  Mr.  Durant  returned  abruptly 
to  the  subject  which  he  had  himself  broken 
in  upon  when  the  trio  came  up  the  hill. 

"  I  did  not  answer  your  question,  Miss 
Wain wright,  as  to  why  I  did  not  find  my 
work  here.  Let  me  answer  it  by  asking 
another.  Why  don't  you  people  who  are 
set  down  here  do  the  work,  so  that  there 
would  be  no  need  for  outsiders  ? " 


SHALL    WE    TRY?  1 03 

"  Humph ! "  said  Miss  Wainwright,  and 
her  way  of  using  that  exclamation  made  it 
equal  to  a  half-hour's  talk  from  some  mouths, 
"  I  wish  we  knew  enough  to  do  anything ; 
or  that  there  were  anything  we  could  do. 
If  there  is  a  place  of  its  size  anywhere  in 
the  world  more  cursed  with  alcohol  than 
Eastwood,  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything 
about  it,  for  this  is  bad  enough.  There 
hasn't  been  a  thing  done  here  for  the  cause 
of  temperance  in  years  ! " 

"Then  I  must  repeat  my  first  question 
with  emphasis,  Why  do  you  permit  such  a 
state  of  things?" 

"Why  do  I!  How  am  I  to  help  it?  I 
am  nothing  but  au  old  maid,  Mr.  Durant; 
haven't  even  a  husband  to  talk  for  me,  or 
vote  for  me ;  which  perhaps  is  fortunate,  for 
ten  chances  to  one  that  he  would  talk  and 
vote  the  wrong  way,  if  I  had." 

This  caused  a  burst  of  laughter  from 
nearly  every  one  in  the  group,  save  Mr. 
Durant;  his  face  was  grave. 

"  The  influence  of  one  good  woman  is  a 
power  in  a  community.  I  can  never  forget 


IO4  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

what  my  mother  was  in  a  town  of  this 
size ;  and  she  had  to  work  alone.  I  remem- 
ber as  a  distinctive  feature  of  my  boyhood 
the  temperance  prayer  meeting  that  she  helped 
sustain.  You  can  certainly  do  so  much  for  the 
cause  in  this  town,  Miss  Wainwright? " 

"  No ;  we  can't.  Nobody  would  come  to 
one  except  Doctor  Brandon,  and  he  would 
have  to  drag  the  meeting  along  after  him. 
He  has  enough  of  that  sort  of  work  to  do 
now  ;  I  don't  believe  in  adding  to  it." 

"  Nor  do  I ;  but  I  believe  a  parlor  prayer 
meeting  to  which  your  pastor  received  a 
cordial  invitation  not  to  come  would  rest 
his  soul  as  nothing  has  done  of  late.  Pas- 
tors everywhere  are  left  to  lead  in  places 
where  they  should  be  permitted  to  look  on 
and  say  '  thank  God.'  Is  there  any  good 
reason  why  you,  and  one  other  woman  whom 
I  know,  and  Mr.  Cleveland,  and  Mr.  Mc- 
Lean, and  any  other  people  whom  you  can 
persuade  to  come,  should  not  meet  in  your 
parlor,  or  in  Mr.  Cleveland's  parlor,  and 
spend  an  hour  in  prayer  for  the  cause  of 
temperance  ?  " 


SHALL    WE   TRY?  IO5 

"  Who  is  the  other  woman  ?  I  suppose 
that  would  be  a  prayer  meeting,  sure 
enough ;  and  we  could  appoint  it  ourselves. 
Keziuh  would  come ;  she  is  temperance  to 
the  core.  I  never  thought  of  it ;  that  hints 
at  an  answer  to  one  of  my  puzzles,  too.  I 
went  into  my  parlor  this  morning  and 
asked  it  what  under  the  sun  it  thought  it 
was  doing  in  the  world,  anyhow.  It  is  a 
great  big  room,  Mr.  Durant,  furnished  well 
enough,  and  it  gets  swept  and  dusted  reg- 
ularly, and  that  is  about  all.  Oh !  when  I 
entertain  the  church  societies  I  open  it,  of 
course ;  if  they  are  for  the  glory  of  God  — 
and  I  hope  they  are,  though  sometimes  I 
have  my  doubts  —  why,  then,  it  does  so  much. 
I'll  try  for  that,  Well,  what  else?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LOGIC. 

MR.  DURANTS  face  was  growing 
bright.  Here  was  a  woman  who 
meant  business. 

"This  prayer  meeting,"  he  said,  "yon 
would  find  that  it  could  reach  in  many 
ways.  It  ought  to  be  the  place  where  the 
wives  and  mothers  and  sisters  and  daugh- 
ters of  drunkards  could  meet,  sure  of  sym- 
pathetic hearts  to  join  with  them  in  prayer 
for  their  loved  ones  bound  in  chains." 

"I  don't  know  many  such  who  pray,  Mr. 
Durant."  Miss  Wainwright's  voice  was  gen- 
tle. It  was  plain  that  the  suggestion  touched 
her,  thrilled  her.  She  saw  its  possibilities, 
if  only  they  had  been  people  who  prayed 
at  all! 

"  No,  many  of  them  do  not ;  but  they 
106 


LOGIC.  ID/ 

ought  to  be  won  to  pray.  They  are  heav- 
ily burdened  —  how  heavily  no  one  can  fully 
realize,  unless  he  has  been  one  of  the  bur- 
den-bearers, or  one  of  the  enslaved.  The 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  a  dozen  people, 
or  three,  or  two,  or  one  person,  had  set 
apart  an  hour  in  which  to  pray  for  them 
and  theirs  would  draw  these  women  as 
nothing  else  could.  They  would  not  all 
rush  in  the  moment  they  heard  of  such  a 
meeting,  because  the  sad  fact  is,  that  our 
way  of  praying  for  these  poor  victims  is 
not  such  as  to  convince  lookers-on  that  we 
are  terribly  in  earnest ;  but,  once  assured 
of  that  fact,  such  sufferers  can  be  won. 
How  many  times  have  you  tried  it,  Miss 
AVainwright  ?  " 

^  "  Never  once,"  said  that  lady,  shutting  her 
lips  together  with  great  firmness. 

Something  in  the  tone  encouraged  Mr. 
Durant  to  believe  that  she  would  never  have 
a  like  answer  to  make  again. 

"  Another  point.  With  how  many  homes 
of  drunkards  are  you  familiar?  How  many 
wives  know  of  you  as  one  woman  to  whom 


IO8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

they  can  come  when  the  bitterness  of  hell 
on  earth  gets  hold  of  them,  assured  that 
your  heart  will  be  ready  to  sympathize, 
and  your  hand  will  be  reached  out  to  help? 
How  many  poor  fellows  on  their  way  to  the 
comfortable  liquor  saloons,  where,  at  least, 
they  can  have  light  arid  warmth,  have  you 
taken  by  the  hand  with  friendly  words  and 
offers  of  assistance  in  any  form  that  you 
thought  they  most  needed  ?  " 

Miss  Wainwright  was  spared  the  need  for 
a  reply.  It  was  Miss  Fleming  who  sud- 
denly took  up  the  conversation  from  her 
standpoint. 

"  But,  don't  you  think,  Mr.  Durant,  that 
such  treatment  would  be  simpty  encouraging 
men  who  have  no  business  to  make  beasts 
of  themselves?  For  my  part,  I  have  no 
patience  with  drunkards.  If  I  spoke  to 
them  at  all,  I  would  tell  them  so.  I  don't 
believe  in  encouraging  vice." 

Mr.  Durant  gave  her  the  benefit  of  a  pair 
of  flashing  eyes. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "  do  you 
know  you  are  talking  about  what  you  do 


LOGIC. 


not  in  the  least  understand  ?  I  confess  to 
having  very  little  patience  with  moderate 
drinkers,  or  occasional  drinkers,  because 
they  boast  —  and,  I  suppose,  believe  —  that 
they  can  easily  give  up  the  fascinations  of 
alcohol  whenever  they  choose  ;  and,  be- 
lieving this,  they  deliberately  choose  not 
to  give  it  up,  though  they  know,  every  one 
of  them,  that  their  example  helps  others  to 
ruin.  But  a  drunkard  is  as  veritable  a 
slave  as  though  he  were  chained  hand  and 
foot  with  visible  chains.  He  can  no  more, 
with  his  own  unaided  strength,  break  those 
chains  than  he  could  with  his  two  hands 
break  away  from  the  iron  chain  and 
padlock  which  held  him  behind  prison 
bars.  He  is  the  victim  of  a  disease, 
merciless  in  its  grasp,  and  yet  of  such  a 
nature  that  it  will  require  will-power  to 
overcome  it;  and  he  has  so  weakened  his 
will-power  by  disease  that  it  has  not  force 
enough  to  overcome.  As  a  rule,  a  stronger 
will  than  his  must  step  in  to  the  rescue, 
and  he  must  with  his  weak  will  lay  hold 
on  that  strong  one,  or  the  man  is  lost.  It 


IIO  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

is  the  business  of  Christ's  people  to  be  for- 
ever pointing  out  that  strong  will,  and  urg- 
ing, by  all  means  in  their  power,  those  dis- 
eased wills  to  hide  themselves  in  this  strong 
one.  You  may  not  have  patience  with  a 
drunkard — human  patience  is  a  very  weak 
and  contemptible  thing  —  but  if  you  belong 
to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  you  have  found 
in  him  infinite  patience,  and  it  is  his  com- 
mand that  you  struggle  to  make  this  pa- 
tience yours,  and  to  watch  over,  and  weep 
for,  and  pray  for  the  fallen  with  Christ  like 
patience  and  Christ-like  tenacity." 

He  had  fairly  poured  out  the  words  upon 
her,  while  the  others  sat  listening  —  silent, 
yet  if  one  might  judge  from  their  faces, 
busy  with  earnest  thought. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Miss  Fleming,  with  a 
light  laugh,  "  I  am  not  a  fanatic." 

"May  I  ask  you,  Miss  Fleming,  what  a 
fanatic  is  ?  " 

"  What  it  is  ?  Why,  it  is  —  a  —  a  fana- 
tic ! " 

"  Precisely.  I  wanted  a  definition  of  the 
word.  I  infer,  from  your  use  of  it,  that 


LOGIC.  Ill 

you  judge  me,  for  instance,  to  be  one.  It 
was  for  that  reason  I  asked  the  question. 
I  think  Webster  defines  fanatic  as  one  who 
indulges  in  wild  or  extravagant  notions, 
especially  on  religious  subjects.  Now  I 
would  like  to  ask  you  whether  you  con- 
sider it  extravagant  to  believe  that  a  drunk- 
ard needs  saving,  if  he  is  ever  going  to 
be  fit  for  heaven,  and  that  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  is  able  and  willing  to  save,  if  the 
drunkard  can  only  be  persuaded  to  accept 
of  his  aid.  Is  there  anything  fanatical 
about  that?" 

"  I  think  a  man  need  not  be  a  drunkard 
unless  he  chooses ;  and  if  he  chooses  to  so 
degrade  himself,  he  is  a  person  not  worth 
thinking  about." 

Certain  sufficient  glances  were  exchanged 
behind  the  back  of  the  speaker,  and  Charlie 
Lambert  went  so  far  as  to  say,  "  Why, 
Josie !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  said  Miss  Fleming,  in 
increasing  irritation,  "and  I  should  say  the 
same  thing  about  my  own  brother  or  fa- 
ther." 


112  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Was  it  possible  that  she  did  not  know 
that  at  least  the  brother  was  in  great  and 
increasing  danger?  This  was  the  thought 
in  more  than  one  heart.  But  Mr.  Durant 
looked  in  no  wise  shocked;  it  would  have 
been  hard  for  Josie  Fleming  to  have  ad- 
vanced an  idea,  however  illogical  or  unchris- 
tian, that  he  had  not  heard  before. 

"Suppose,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that 
I  grant  part  of  your  statement,  that  a  man 
need  not  become  a  drunkard  unless  he 
chooses;  there  is  a  period  in  his  life  when 
it  is  undoubtedly  true ;  now  let  us  see 
where  this  logic  leads.  A  man  mounts  a 
vicious  horse  to  take  a  ride  for  pleasure ; 
he  is  aware  that  the  horse  is  dangerous, 
that  he  has  thrown  others ;  he  is  warned 
not  to  try  it.  He  knows  that  the  road 
down  which  he-  has  determined  to  ride  is 
a  peculiarly  dangerous  one ;  other  acci- 
dents have  occurred  there.  He  need  not 
travel  that  road  unless  he  chooses  ;  he  need 
not  ride  that  horse  unless  he  chooses.  He 
chooses  to  do  it ;  he  is  thrown,  and  his  hip 
joint  is  broken,  and  his  leg  is  broken  in 


LOGIC.  113 

two  places;  and  he  lies  on  the  road  where 
the  down  train  will  pass  in  a  few  hours; 
he  can  no  more  pick  himself  up  and  limp 
back  to  safety,  with  his  poor  maimed  limbs, 
than  he  can  gather  himself  up  and  fly ; 
and  he  is  your  brother.  Do  I  understand 
you  to  say  he  is  not  worth  thinking  about ; 
that  he  ought  to  be  left  to  lie  there  and 
perish  ?  " 

"Mr.  Durant,  how  far  do  you  think  a 
man  can  indulge  his  taste  for  liquor,  and 
yet  keep  inside  the  line  where  he"  can  re- 
form if  he  will?" 

It  was  not  Josie  Fleming,  but  Lloyd 
McLean,  who  asked  the  question,  and  there 
was  so  much  earnestness  in  his  voice  ,  that 
more  than  one  turned  and  looked  closely 
at  IIMM. 

Mr.    Durant   shook   his   head. 

"It  is  not  for  me,  it  is  not  for  any  man, 
to  say ;  the  supposed  power  of  the  human 
will  is  what  has  wrecked  many  a  soul.  It 
is  like  other  organs  of  the  body ;  like  the 
muscles,  for  instance.  Put  them  under 
careful  training;  give  them  legitimate  work 


114  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

to  do ;  develop  them  in  the  line  in  which 
they  were  meant  to  be  developed,  and  you 
may  trust  them  to  almost  any  extent ;  but 
let  them  lie  flabby  and  useless,  or  abuse 
them  by  systematic  ill  use,  and  they  are 
unfit  for  a  strain  ;  not  to  be  depended  upon. 
God  meant  that  the  human  will  should  be 
a  great  engine  for  good,  but  the  human  will 
perverted,  is  a  rotten  plank,  on  which  one's 
weight  can  not  be  trusted.  I  tremble  for 
a  man  who  has  the  natural  taste  for  intoxi- 
cants in  "his  system ;  I  tremble  for  any  man 
who  indulges  to  ever  so  slight  a  degree  in 
that  which  can  create  a  thirst  for  intoxi- 
cants. It  fact,  I  may  almost  say  that  in 
this  age  of  the  world,  and  with  the  tempta- 
tions toward  this  evil,  which  lie  thickly 
strewn  in  every  road,  I  tremble  for  any 
man  whose  will  is  not  anchored  on  the 
rock  Christ  Jesus." 

"  Still,  men  do  pledge  their  wills  that  they 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  poison, 
and,  apparently  unaided,  they  succeed  in 
overcoming." 

It  was   still    McLean  who   spoke,  and   there 


LOGIC.  115 

I 

was  still  the  ring  of  deep  feeling  in  his 
voice. 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Durant  said,  "there  are  men 
Who  do;  there  is  now  and  then  one  who 
actually  overcomes  the  thirst  after  it  has 
been  once  developed.  There  are  a  very  few 
who  have  lived  through  life  in  that  way 
and  died ;  saved,  so  far  as  this  world  is 
concerned,  without  Christ.  But  the  number 
is  so  few  that  the  statistics  should  alarm, 
instead  of  encourage  us,  and  why  any  man 
should  want  to  subject  his  will  to  such  a 
fearful  strain  as  that,  and  accomplish  only 
a  half-way  salvation,  which  will  not  reach 
beyond  the  grave,  is  more  than  I  can  un- 
derstand, especially  when  the  world  is  so 
full  of  such  grand  chances  to  educate  the 
will  in  directions  which  will  tell  for  eter- 
nity, as  well  as  time.  I  confess,  I  wish  I 
could  see  young  men,  at  least,  becoming 
ambitious  to  reach  their  highest." 

"But  some  men  think  it  is  the  mark  of 
a  coward  to  whine  about  their  inability  to 
keep  themselves  in  temptation." 

"I    know   some    men    talk     so,   but    every 


Il6  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

true  man  knows  that  it  is  the  mark  of  a 
coward  to  run  into  needless  danger,  and  I 
pity  the  man  who  has  not  brain  power 
enough,  and  insight  into  the  future  enough, 
not  to  be  willing  to  be  anchored  in  God." 

I  would  like  to  describe  to  you  if  I 
could,  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Durant  spoke 
that  name.  There  was  such  a  reminder  in 
it  that  he  felt  a  rock  of  strength  under- 
neath every  one  who  anchored  there. 

"Still,  don't  you  think  a  promise  made  to 
another  goes  a  great  way?" 

It  was  the  first  time  Mildred  Powers  had 
spoken  since  the  conversation  had  become 
general.  Mr.  Durant  turned  toward  her,  his 
face  pale  and  grave. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "it  sometimes 
goes  a  great  way.  I  promised  my  mother 
when  she  lay  dying  that  I  would  never 
touch  a  drop  of  liquor  in  any  form ;  and 
it  held  me  for  nine  months ;  and  just  a 
year  from  the  night  she  died,  I  lay  in 
the  gutter  all  night  drunk !  It  was 
after  that,  months  afterward,  that  I 
cast  myself  on  God;  coufessiug  to  him 


LOGIC.  II/ 

that  I  could  not  even  be  true  to  my 
mother,  and  he  undertook  the  desperate 
case  for  me,  and  has  held  me  ever 
since.  I  know  that  my  safety  is  in  him. 
But  I  would  urge  the  human  pledge  always, 
and  cry  out  always  after  the  higher,  abso- 
lutely safe  ground." 

"  I  am  glad  that  young  McLean  made 
one  of  our  party  this  afternoon  and  heard 
the  words  he  did.  I  am  deeply  interested 
in  that  young  man,  and  would  like  to  get 
some  sort  of  a  hold  on  him.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  some  things  which  Mr.  Durant 
said  have  made  an  impression." 

It  was  Mr.  Cleveland  who  spoke,  and 
his  words  were  addressed  to  Miss  Wain- 
wright.  The  collation  was  over,  the  debris 
was  being  cleared  away,  and  the  various 
companies  were  strolling  about  gathering 
ferns  and  other  souvenirs  of  the  bright 
autumn  day. 

Miss  Wainwright  started  visibly  as  this 
sentence  was  spoken  low  for  her  ear,  and  a 
curious  look  came  into  her  face. 

"  What   did   you   say    his   name   was  ? " 


Il8  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"McLean,  the  young  man  who  came  up 
the  cliff  in  company  with  Miss  Powers. 
Young  Lambert  introduced  you." 

"  I  did  not  notice  the  name.  Who  is 
he?" 

"A  young  man  who  is  employed  in  the 
post-office  here.  He  has  not  been  here  long, 
I  am  told  ;  but  I  happen  to  be  deeply  in- 
terested in  him  because  I  knew  of  his  fa- 
ther. He  was  my  father's  business  agent 
once,  and  my  father  tried  to  save  him." 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  James  L.  McLean, 
who  studied  law  at  Harvard?" 

"He  was  the  father.  Did  you  know 
him?" 

"  I  knew  him  when  he  was  young,  younger 
perhaps  than  this  boy;  I  don't  know. 
What  became  of  him  ?  " 

"He   died   a   drunkard." 

Miss  Wain  wright  started  again,  and  a 
gray  look  came  into  her  face. 

"  Are   you   sure  ?  "   she   asked  with   energy. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  say  that.  He  was  in- 
jured in  a  drunken  quarrel  between  some 
of  the  railroad  men  whom  it  was  his  duty 


LOGIC.  119 

to  oversee ;  he  lived  for  two  or  possibly 
three  weeks,  but  I  have  understood  that  he 
was  in  great  pain,  and  I  never  heard  any- 
thing to  base  a  hope  on  that  he  did  not 
die  as  he  had  lived.  Yet  the  particulars  of 
his  death  I  never  heard.  I  have  thought 
since  I  met  the  son  that  I  would  like  to 
know  more,  but  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  in- 
quire about.  Lloyd  must  have  been  quite 
a  boy  when  his  father  died.  Did  you 
know  the  family  intimately,  Miss  Wain- 
wright?" 

"  I  did  not  know  the  family  at  all.  I 
knew  James  when  he  was  in  college:  We 
were  good  friends,  but  we  quarrelled  on  this 
very  question,  and  I  never  saw  him  after- 
ward ;  still  there  must  have  been  some 
change  before  he  died.  It  seems  to  me  there 
must  have  been." 

There  was  peculiar  emphasis  in  the  last 
sentence.  Mr.  Cleveland  regarded  her  search- 
ingly  for  a  moment  and  was  silent. 

"  The  Lord  answers  the  prayer  of  those 
who  try  to  do  right  and  trust  in  him, 
doesn't  he,  Mr.  Cleveland?" 


I2O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

{'Always.  But  it  may  not  always  be  in 
the  way  we  plan." 

Then  both  were  silent,  until  Miss  Wain- 
wright  suddenly  said : 

"  Well,  we  must  save  the  son.  I  wonder 
if  lie  wouldn't  come  to  that  prayer  meeting? 
When  shall  we  have  it,  Mr.  Cleveland?  I 
didn't  know  James  had  a  son.  It  is  strange 
I  did  not  notice  the  name.  How  strangely 
lives  are  mixed  !  I  wonder  if  it  will  be  dis- 
covered some  day,  that  we  all  had  to  do  with 
the  shaping  of  all  other  lives,  though  we 
did  not  know  it." 

She  was  a  good  deal  shaken.  Some  mem- 
ory of  an  old  experience  had  stirred  her 
strangely.  But  she  broke  off  suddenly  to 
call  Mr.  Durant,  who  was  passing.  He  was 
helping  Mildred  Powers  down  the  cliff,  and 
Lloyd  McLean  was  doing  the  same  for  Kate 
Hartzell. 

"  Mr.  Durant,  you  did  not  tell  me  who 
that  other  woman  is." 

"  That  other  woman,"  said  Mr.  Durant, 
pausing  on  a  ledge  of  rock,  "  is  Miss  Pris- 
cilla  Hunter,  a  maiden  lady  who  has  just 


LOGIC.  121 

come  here  to  live.  If  you  have  not  heard 
of  her  before,  you  will  do  well  to  make  her 
acquaintance.  I  think  you  will  find  her  a 
woman  after  your  own  heart  on  the  tem- 
perance question,  as  well  as  on  some  others. 
She  will  come  to  your  prayer  meeting  with- 
out a  doubt.  When  do  you  mean  to  start 
it?" 

"  Next  Saturday  night,"  said  Miss  Wain- 
wright,  promptly ;  "  I  think  that  will  be  the 
best  evening ;  it  is  the  nearest  available 
one,  any  way,  since  to-day  is  Thursday.  I 
like  to  do  things  before  they  get  •  cold. 
Young  man,"  and  she  suddenly  turned  and 
laid  her  hand  on  Lloyd  McLean's  arm,  "will 
you  come  to  the  meeting?" 

He  looked  surprised,  and  shook  his  head, 
with  a  smile  in  his  merry  eyes: 

"  I  .think  you  will  be  glad  to  excuse  me, 
Miss  Wainwright ;  prayer  meetings  of  any  sort 
are  not  in  my  line." 

"I  didn't  ask  you  whether  they  were  or 
not.  I  want  you  to  come  to  this  one.  It 
won't  be  in  the  line  of  any  prayer  meeting 
that  you  ever  heard  of,  I  don't  believe.  I 


122  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

want  to  see    you  ;   I  knew   your  father  once." 
The   handsome   boyish   face  shadowed   for  a 

moment,   then    Lloyd   said: 
"  I    will   come    and   see   you." 
"Will   you    come   on     Saturday  evening?" 
But   this   he   would   not   promise. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SEVERAL   STARTLING  POINTS. 

SEVERAL  bits  of  important  conversation 
were  indulged  in  by  these  people  as 
they  slowly  and  with  many  stops  to  admire 
Sunset  views,  made  their  way  down  the 
hills,  along  the  river  path,  toward  the  de- 
pot. Among  others  was  Mr.  Durant's  ques- 
tion, just  as  they  reached  a  bit  of  level 
ground  : 

"  Miss  Wainwright,  what  do  you  want 
our  government  to  do  on  the  liquor  ques- 
tion ?  " 

The  answer  came  with  the  promptness  of 
one  who  had  been  studying  the  subject. 

"  Want   them   to   annihilate    it." 

"  So  I  supposed.  What  are  you  doing  to- 
ward that  issue?  How  many  votes  do  you 
influence  ?  " 

"3 


124  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Miss  Wainwrigh.fi  bestowed  a  searching 
look  on  him  to  learn  whether  this  was  non- 
sense or  earnestness,  and  seeing  only  a  grave, 
interested  face,  remarked,  dryly : 

"I  thought  I  told  you  I  was  an  old 
maid?" 

"  But  that,  surely,  does  not  mean  that 
you  have  no  gentleman  friends  with  whom 
your  opinions,  if  they  are  carefully  studied 
and  earnestly  expressed,  have  not  more  or 
less  weight  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Miss 
Wainwright,  thoughtfully.  "I  have  never  said 
much  about  it  to  men.  It  always  seemed 
to  me  as  though  they  thought  they  knew 
so  much,  that  it  would  be  almost  a  pity 
if  they  should  learn  any  more  !  But  I  have 
some  good  friends  among  the  boys,  and 
they'll  vote  one  of  these  days.  That's  an 
idea,  Mr.  Durant.  I  believe  I'll  train  them." 

"  I  know  some  grand  women  who  are  at 
work  at  that  very  business,  Miss  Wainwright, 
training  the  boys  of  to-day  to  vote  prohibi- 
tion to-morrow." 

"  Buying  up  votes  !  "  said  Charlie  Lambert, 


SEVERAL    STARTLING    POINTS.  125 

not  with  malicious  intent,  but  purely  for 
mischief,  in  order  to  see  Miss  Wainwright's 
gray  eyes  flash. 

But  he  was  mistaken.  They  did  not  flash. 
She  only  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  grave 
reproof,  and  said : 

"  Charlie,  you  are  too  old  for  such  a  silly 
speech  as  that." 

Whereupon  everybody  within  hearing,  even 
Mr.  Durant,  laughed.  The  hopeful  thing 
about  Charlie  Lambert  was  that  he  joined 
in  the  laugh,  though  his  color  rose  a  little. 

The  next  bit  was  for  Mildred  Powers. 
She  was  close  beside  Miss  \Vainwright,  and 
said,  hurriedly,  the  pink  color  in  her  face 
deepening  a  little,  as  one  who  was  speak- 
ing with  an  effort: 

"  I  heard  you  repeat  a  verse  a  little  while 
ago  which  I  happened  to  read  only  this 
morning.  Will  you  tell  me  if  you  think  it 
means  that  one  could  really  do  everything 
with  that  motive  in  view?" 

Miss  Wainwright  looked  down  at  the  fair 
young  face  with  a  flash  of  special  interest. 

"  Were     you    hit    too,  child,    and    by    the 


126  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

very  same  words?  That  is  a  strange  co- 
incidence. I  wonder  if  you  and  I  are 
meant  to  join  forces  in  any  way  in  the 
work?" 

"I  didn't  think  so  much  of  it  at  the  time 
I  read  the  verse,"  said  the  truthful  voice ; 
"but  when  I  heard  you  quote  it  this  after- 
noon, I  remembered  that  it  was  the  sen- 
tence I  had  read  this  morning,  and  I 
thought  how  strange  it  was.  It  seemed  to 
say  so  much,  and  yet  "  — 

"And  yet  people  are  doing  so  little  about 
it.  I  understand.  Well,  I  can't  give  you 
much  light,  I'm  ashamed  to  say.  I've  been 
professing  to  serve  the  Lord  for  a  good 
many  years,  but  it  is  as  though  I  had  just 
stumbled  over  that  verse.  I'm  at  work  at 
it,  though,  and  this  Mr.  Durant  has  set  a 
light  or  two  to  twinkling  on  the  road  for 
me.  I  can  see  plainly  enough  why  I  was 
sent  to  this  picnic  this  afternoon.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  had  received  a  notion  of  two 
or  three  things  which  could  be  used  to  His 
glory.  I  mean  to  try  for  it,  anyway.  Why, 
yes,  child,  I  can't  see  that  the  verse  means 


SEVERAL    STARTLING    POINTS.  127 

anything  else,  only  what  it  says.  It  is  a 
verse  for  a  lifetime,  isn't  it?  You  come 
and  see  me  when  I  have  had  a  chance  to 
think,  and  let  us  talk  it  over  together." 

"  Thank  you,"  Mildred  said,  a  grateful  light 
in  her  eyes.  And  then  she  was  glad  to  be 
left  standing  by  Mr.  Durant,  on  guard  over 
certain  baskets,  while  some  of  the  others 
went  back  for  more.  She  had  a  word  that 
she  wanted  to  speak  to  him.  A  little  timid 
she  was  about  it.  A  great  deal  of  this 
afternoon  was  new  ground  to  Mildred  Pow- 
ers. He  helped  her,  however,  for  he  said, 
looking  at  his  watch : 

"  I  expected  to  be  well  on  my  way  to- 
ward Chicago  by  this  time.  Do  you  ever 
have  your  plans  overturned  for  you,  Miss 
Powers,  and  do  you  bear  it  with  pa- 
tience ?  " 

Instead  of  answering  the  question,  she 
asked  : 

"  Do  you  speak  in  Chicago  ? "  and  there 
was  such  eagerness  in  the  tone,  that  his 
special  attention  was  arrested. 

"Not    on     my     way    out,"  he    said;    "but 


128  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

when  I  make  my  return  trip,  in  about 
three  weeks,  I  expect  to  spend  a  week  or 
more  in  that  city.  It  is  not  your  home,  I 
think?" 

*'  Oh,  no,  sir ;  I  was  never  there,  but  I 
have  friends  spending  the  winter  there.  Mr. 
Durant,  do  you,  in  your  temperance  work, 
meet  people,  and  talk  with  them  personally?" 

"  Frequently  ;  constant!}',  indeed.  I  become 
interested  in  individual  cases,  impressed,  you 
know,  that  I  may  be  able  to  help  them, 
and  I  seek  them  out  and  try." 

A  few  moments  of  silence,  during  which 
time  Mildred  tore  into  little  bits  the 
autumn  leaves  which  young  McLean  had 
just  given  her,  the  flush  on  her  cheeks 
deepening  the  while.  Suddenly  she  tossed 
the  bits  into  the  stream  at  her  feet,  and 
spoke  with  the  resolution  of  one  who  had 
reached  a  decision. 

"Mr.  Durant,  do  you  —  do  you  suppose 
you  could  remember  the  name  of  one  young 
man  in  -Chicago,  so  that  if  you  should 
meet  him  you  would  know  that  you  had 
heard  something  about  him?" 


SEVERAL    STARTLING    POINTS.  I2Q 

"I  am  very  well  drilled  in  remembering 
names,  and  I  carry  special  items  connected 
wkh  those  names  in  my  memory,  some- 
times for  years,  waiting  opportunities  to  use 
them." 

"  Then  I  will  tell  you.  There  is  a  Mr. 
Airedale  in  Chicago,  who,  I  hope,  will 
meet  you.  lie  is  a  book-keeper  in  the  whole- 
stile  house  of  McGilpin  &  Co.  He  is  in 
great  danger,  I  think.  He  has  made  a 
promise,  something  as  you  did,  not  to  his 
mother,  but  to  a  friend;  but  his  natural 
tastes  are  bitterly  against  him,  and  he  is 
proud,  and  will  not  let  his  weakness  be 
known.  His  family  are  blind  to  his  danger. 
His  own  mother  offers  him  home-made 
wines,  though  she  knows  that  he  is  sorely 
tempted  in  that  direction.  He  was  fed  on 
brandy  for  days  and  weeks  when  a  child. 
It  was  a  physician's  prescription,  you 
know.  I  do  think  the  whole  thing  is  so 
wicked,  Mr.  Dtirant,  but  I  never  knew  be- 
fore that  there  was  anything  to  do — any- 
thing that  girls  could  do,  I  mean  —  not  un- 
til this  afternoon,  when  I  heard  you  talk. 


I3O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

I  want  to  help  and  I  mean  to  try.  I  have 
never  done  a  thing;  all  I  thought  I  could 
do  was  to  refuse  to  do  some  things,  but  I 
see  ways  of  working,  or  of  trying,  now." 

She  was  speaking  rapidly,  her  whole  face 
aglow  with  strong  feeling,  her  eyes  bright 
and  her  breath  coming  in  little,  excited 
waves,  which  showed  that  she  was  under 
the  control  of  some  strong  emotion. 

Mr.  Durant  had  taken  out  his  note-book, 
and  was  writing  an  address. 

"  Could  you  give  me  the  business  num- 
ber of  this  Mr.  Airedale  ? "  he  said.  "  I 
am  interested  in  him.  I  want  to  seek  him 
out." 

She  named  the  street  and  number,  her 
e}Tes  flashing  him  such  grateful  thanks  that 
he  told  himself  he  should  certainly  try  for 
that  young  man.  Then  she  went  on  hur- 
riedly : 

"There  are  reasons,  Mr.  Durant,  why  I 
ought  not  to  be  mentioned  in  this  connec- 
tion. I  am  not  to  hold  communication 
with  him  in  any  way,  and  this  might  seem 
to  him  almost  like  sending  a  message  if  he 


SEVERAL   STARTLING    POINTS.         .        13! 

knew,  and  I  wouldn't  wish  to  do  that.  I 
mean  mamma, "  —  And  she  stopped  in  ut- 
ter confusion,  her  eyes  heavy  with  tears. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  gravely ;  "  this  is 
as  between  you  and  me  about  one  of  the 
sheep  that  you  and  I  are  bound  to  help 
back  to  the  fold  if  we  can.  And  it  is  not 
to  be  mentioned  in  any  way  save  to  the 
Good  Shepherd  himself.  I  hope  to  be  in 
Chicago  three  weeks  from  to-night,  and  I 
will  not  forget  this  name.  A'm  I  right  in 
my  deductions,  Miss  Powers?  do  you  be- 
long to  Christ?" 

The   tears   were   dropping    quietly   now. 

"  I  think  I  do,  Mr.  Durant ;  indeed,  I 
may  say  I  am  almost  sure  that  I  do,  but  it 
is  all  very  new  to  me ;  and  I  came  to  him 
through  trial  and  darkness.  Sometimes  it 
seems  to  me  as  though  I  only  sought  him 
because  I  had  nothing  else,  and  that  I  was 
unworthy  of  his  love  or  care." 

She     looked    young    to    be    talking    about 

"having     nothing      else,"   but     Mr.      Durant 

,knew   that    the    trials   of    young   hearts    were 

very   bitter,   and,   perhaps   all    the    harder    to 


132  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

bear  because  of  their  lack  of  the  discipline  of 
experience.  He  had  just  time  for  his  reply 
before  others  joined  them. 

"  There  is  a  sense,  certainly,  in  which  we 
are  all  of  us  unworthy  of  His  love  or  care, 
but  we  are  always  to  remember  this:  that 
He  has  chosen  us  for  His  own,  that  we  have 
been  bought  with  a  price,  that  we  are  held 
as  infinitely  precious  in  his  sight,  ,and  that, 
therefore,  we  must  set  a  high  estimate  on 
our  own  importance,  and  live  accordingly." 

After  that  there  was  little  time  for  talk. 
Somebody  reported  that  the  train  had 
whistled  at  the  station  two  miles  below, 
and  the  various  companies  gathered  their 
wraps  and  baskets  and  made  all  speed  to- 
ward the  depot. 

Just  across  the  ravine,  also  making  rapid 
strides  toward  the  train,  was  a  party  who 
had  been  with  the  company,  but  not  of 
them,  all  the  afternoon.  These  were  five 
young  men.  Had  you  watched  them  you 
would  have  observed  that,  while  they  seemed 
anxious  to  reach  the  train,  they  were  also 
anxious  to  avoid  close  scrutiny  from  any 


SEVERAL    STARTLING    POINTS.  133 

others ;  that  they  slackened  their  pace  ;is 
soon  as  they  found  themselves  nearing  any 
of  the  groups  hastening  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, and  that  one  of  them  was  receiving 
somewhat  anxious  assistance,  his  face  being 
Hushed,  and  his  step  unsteady. 

It  was  this  man  whom  Mr.  Durant  at 
last  observed,  and  he  halted  to  call  across 
the  ravine  : 

"  Is  your  friend  ill,  gentlemen  ?  Can  we 
be  of  any  assistance  ?  " 

"  It  is  nothing  of  consequence,  a  sudden 
attack  of  dizziness;  he  will  be  all  right 
presently,"  called  back  one  of  the  five,  his 
face  in  a  frown,  and  they  noticeably  slack- 
ened their  pace. 

Mr.  Durant   still   looked   after   them. 

"  The  young  man  who  spoke  has  .  a  hard 
face,"  he  said,  "and  it  is  a  very  youthful 
face,  too.  He  can't  be  more  than  nineteen 
or  twenty.  I  have  not  seen  him  before. 
Who  is  he?" 

Charlie  Lambert  looked  about  him  to  see 
who  were  within  hearing  before  he  replied 
in  a  low  voice : 


134  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"He  is  a  brother  of  Miss  Josie  Fleming; 
and  a  wild  boy,  I  guess.  Has  the  name  of 
leading  a  set  of  fellows  who  are  always  in 
mischief.  He  is  just  about  twenty." 

"  Do  you  know  the  young  man  whom 
they  seem  to  be  helping  ? " 

"I  did  not  notice,"  said  Charlie,  glancing 
back  ;  "  why,  I  think  I  know  him  ;  he  looks 
like  one  of  the  clerks  at  Morrison's.  Halloo, 
Lloyd,  wait  a  minute ;  I  thought  you  said 
Bruce  did  not  come  on  this  trip.  He  seems 
to  be  back  there  with  Fleming's  set,  and 
the}r  say  he  is  sick." 

"  Sick ! "  repeated  Lloyd,  who  had  been 
halted  by  his  friend's  call,  "why,  it  can't 
be  Bruce ;  he  told  me  he  wasn't  coming, 
and  I  have  seen  nothing  of  him  this  after- 
noon. He  would  naturally  have  gravitated 
toward  our  party  if  he  had  been  in  the 
company." 

Nevertheless,  it  was  Eben  Bruce.  And 
to  tell  you  how  he  came  to  be  of  the  party, 
I  must  return  to  the  starting  hour  of  the 
train.  You  will  remember  that  in  a  spirit 
of  hauteur  he  had  determined  not  to  join 


SEVERAL    STARTLING    POINTS.  135 

the  picnic  party.  Nevertheless,  he  was  by 
no  means  averse  to  a  half-holiday,  such 
opportunities  being  rare  in  his  experience. 
He  had  resolved  to  spend  the  afternoon  in 
the  office  of  a  medical  friend,  looking 
up,  in  his  library,  facts  about  a  certain 
organ  which  he  was  just  now  studying 
with  interest.  But  the  physician's  office 
was  closed  and  locked ;  an  unusual  circum- 
stance, and  in  itself  a  very  trivial  matter 
—  that  is,  apparently.  The  trivial  matters 
of  this  life  would  make  a  very  curious 
study,  if  one  could  trace  them  from  their 
inception  to  the  hour  when  their  influ- 
ence ceased  to  work.  In  point  of  fact,  the 
doctor  was  not  absent  from  his  office  ten 
minutes.  He  merely  stepped  into  the  office 
around  the  corner  to  watch  a  game  of 
cards  which  was  being  played.  He  told  him- 
self while  he  stood  there  that  this  was  his 
office  hour,  and  he  ought  to  go ;  and  he 
told  himself  that  he  should  go  in  ten  min- 
utes; he  would  just  like  to  see  whether 
Jones  would  beat,  after  all.  And  during 
that  ten  minutes  Bruce  came  and  shook 


136  ONE     COMMONPLACE     DAY. 

his  door  and  departed  disappointed.  There 
was  no  physician  in  town,  save  this  young 
one,  with  whom  he  felt  on  terms  of  suffi- 
cient intimacy  to  sit  in  his  office  and  study 
a  medical  work.  Had  the  young  doctor 
known  of  this,  he  would  have  said  that  it 
was  of  no  consequence,  that  Bruce  could 
come  at  another  time  just  as  well. 

And  Bruce,  disappointed,  yet  told  him- 
self the  same  thing,  and  said  he  would  go 
back  in  half  an  hour  or  so  and  try  again. 
He  would  really  like  to  get  that  point 
worked  up  before  the  night  for  the  dis- 
cussion. At  that  moment  out  from  her  door 
fluttered  Miss  Josie  Fleming,  in  her  light 
silk  and  delicate  gloves.  He  was  slightly 
acquainted  with  her,  and  she  greeted  him 
with  a  smiling  face.  It  seemed  quite  nat- 
ural that  at  the  corner  he  should  resolve  to 
extend  his  walk  in  her  direction  ;  she  was 
pleasant  enough.  In  her  direction  lay  the 
depot,  and  she  was  going  to  the  picnic, 
and  she  urged  his  attendance,  assuring  him 
that  it  would  be  "  just  lovely "  at  the 
falls.  He  wavered  in  his  decision.  Why 


SEVERAL    STARTLING    POINTS.  137 

not  go  and  have  a  holiday  with  the  rest? 
l>ut  on  the  platform  of  the  station  was 
Mr.  Cleveland,  walking  back  and  forth 
waiting  for  the  arrival  of  his  wagon, 
loaded  with  baskets  and  pails  for  the 
lunchers.  Miss  Fleming  admired  the  aris- 
tocratic-looking and  supposed-to-be  fastidi- 
ous stranger,  and  quite  turned  her  back 
on  the  young  clerk,  who  was  aware  that  his 
boots  were  not  of  the  latest  cut,  nor  of  the 
finest  material,  and  was  as  sensitive  about 
all  those  things  as  a  girl.  He  was  not  ac- 
quainted with  Mr.  Cleveland,  and  Miss 
Fleming  did  not  introduce  him,  and  he 
presently  went  around  to  the  other  side  of 
the  building  and  assured  himself  that  he 
was  a  first-class  fool  for  trying  to  push 
himself  into  society  that  felt  itself  too 
grand  for  him.  Just  at  that  moment  ap- 
peared Fred  Fleming,  his  handsome  face 
aglow  with  fun.  It  was  a  handsome  face, 
although  it  was  a  hard  one.  There  were 
possibilities  in  it,  either  for  good  or  evil, 
and  when  he  laughed,  and  his  bright  eyes 
twinkled  with  good  feeling,  one  not  deeply 


138  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

read  in  life  would  not  be  likely  to  notice 
that  the  evil  in  it  was  gaining  the  ascend- 
ency. Young  Bruce  knew  him.  He  had  met 
him  in  that  very  room  from  which  his  friend, 
the  doctor,  was  just  now  bustling  away,  and 
it  was  his  friend,  the  doctor,  who  had  in- 
troduced them  one  evening,  having  taken 
him  around  to  watch  a  game. 

"I  don't  play  myself,"  the  doctor  had 
said,  "  but  I  like  to  watch  a  game  now  and 
then  to  see  what  will  come  of  it.  That 
Fred  Fleming  plays  too  well  for  a  boy  of 
his  years.  If  he  belonged  to  me,  I  should 
be  afraid  that  it  would  get  too  deep  a  hold 
on  him." 

And  then  he  had  stood  beside  him  and 
watched  the  game,  and  cheered  a  little  at 
his  good  luck.  But  the  young  doctor  was 
a  very  moral  man,  a  member  of  the  church, 
and  rarely  touched  cards. 

"  Halloo ! "  had  Fred  Fleming  said  the 
moment  he  caught  sight  of  the  young  man, 
"here's  another.  Come  on,  boys,  we'll  kid- 
nap Bruce,  and  then  there  will  be  five  of 
us.  I  told  you  that  four  was  an  unlucky 


SEVERAL   STARTLING   POINTS.  139 

number.  I  say,  Bruce,  we  are  in  for  a  lark. 
We  are  bound  to  shock  all  the  good  tem- 
perance people  to-day.  This  is  a  regular 
Sunday-school  affair,  this  picnic,  with  all 
the  naughty  things,  as  well  as  all  the 
naughty  people,  left  at  home.  At  least,  that 
is  what  the  nice,  good  men  and  women 
hope  and  believe.  Now,  we  are  going  along 
to  stir  them  up  a  little,  and  give  them  a 
chance  to  exercise  some  of  the  Christian 
virtues.  You  join  us,  and  we  will  have  a 
jolly  time." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  VICTIM  OP  CIRCUMSTANCE. 

ORDINARILY,  a  greeting  of  this 
sort  would  have  had  no  charms  for 
Eben  Bruce.  He  was  inclined  to  be  quiet 
and  studious.  He  was  ambitious,  and  meant 
to  be  something  more  than  a  second  book- 
keeper in  a  retail  store.  But  just  now  lie 
felt  alone,  and  friendless,  and  sore-hearted. 
He  felt  like  being  avenged  on  all  aristo- 
crats who  judged  of  people  by  the  clothes 
they  wore.  If  Miss  Josie  Fleming  did  not 
think  enough  of  him  to  introduce  him  to  her 
high-toned  friends,  it  seems  her  brother  was 
not  of  that  stamp,  for  his  companions  were, 
two  of  them,  sons  of  rich  men,  and  they  gave 
him  cordial  greeting.  Why  shouldn't  he  go 
with  people  who  were  glad  to  have  him,  and 
enjoy  himself  in  their  way  if  he  could? 
140 


A   VICTIM   OF    CIRCUMSTANCE.  14! 

And  he  went  forward  with  them  into  the 
smoking  car,  and  accepted  a  cigar,  though 
he  rarely  smoked ;  and  he  spent  that  entire 
afternoon  with  those  four  young  men.  Not 
as  they  had  at  first  intended.  In  fact,  it 
would  have  been  hard  for  them  to  tell  what 
they  had  at  first  intended.  They  had  no 
definite  plan  beyond  the  fun  of  smuggling 
a  basket  of  wines  into  the  temperance  pic- 
nic grounds.  Fred  Fleming,  it  is  true,  had 
planned  in  his  own  ruiiid  that  he  would 
carry  a  tray  of  wine-glasses,  well  filled, 
among  whatever  party  the  temperance  lec- 
turer seated  himself  with,  and  offer  them 
with  his  best  bow.  But  this  part  of  the 
programme  he  failed  to  carry  out.  And  I  can 
not  help  thinking  it  a  pity  that  he  did,  be- 
cause people  with  wide  open  eyes  can  often 
accomplish  what  those  with  the  best  inten- 
tions and  blinded  eyes  fail  to  do.  What 
these  young  men  had  done  was  to  drink 
more  liquor  than  two  of  them,  atr  least,  were 
used  to.  In  fact,  Eben  Bruce  was  used  to 
none.  He  had  been  brought  up  by  a  care- 
ful mother,  who  knew  little  of  the  world 


142  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

and  its  temptations.  She  used  no  liquors 
in  her  home,  because  she  had  never  been 
in  the  habit  of  doing  so.  She  attended  no 
temperance  meetings,  because  there  had 
never  been  any  drunkenness  in  their  fam- 
ily, and  was  not  likely  to  be.  She  wished 
well  to  the  cause,  because  the  drunkards  — 
poor  miserable  wretches  —  ought  to  be 
saved,  she  supposed,  if  they  could  be  — 
though  they  always  seemed  to  her  more 
like  brutes  than  men. 

She  objected  to  her  little  boy's  joining  a 
juvenile  temperance  organization,  because  she 
did  not  believe  in  urging  children  to  tam- 
per with  promises  —  promises  were  sacred 
things.  She  refused  to  urge  him  to  join  the 
Young  Men's  Temperance  Society  when  he 
was  older,  because  his  tastes  and  inclina- 
tions were  all  in  another  direction  from 
those  "poor  tempted  fellows"  who  were  be- 
coming members.  What  was  the  use  in 
mixing  society  so?  Eben  would  be  a  stu- 
dent, and  students  were  always  gentlemen. 

And  so  the  years  passed;  and  Eben's 
father  died,  and  the  money  which  was  to 


A   VICTIM    OF    CIRCUMSTANCE.  143 

send  Eben  to  college  was  swept  away  in 
that  mysterious  fashion  which  happens  so 
often,  and  Eben  went  out  from  the  shelter 
of  home,  with  his  refined  tastes  and  his 
student  habits,  to  mix  with  a  world  none 
too  gentle  at  its  best,  unfortified  by  warn- 
ing, or  pledge,  or  any  such  thing,  for  the 
temptations  which  were  sure  to  assail  him 
on  every  hand.  The  wonder  was  that  he 
had  gotten  through  nearly  a  year  in  com- 
parative safety. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  possessed  the 
sort  of  brain  which  would  respond  to  the 
touch  of  alcoholic  poison  as  surely  and  as 
quickly  as  gunpowder  responds  to  the  touch 
of  fire.  He  aimed  to  be  a  physician,  and 
pored  of  nights  over  musty  volumes  of 
learned  treatises  about  the  nature  of  the 
skin  and  structure  of  the  human  frame,  and 
yet  he  did  not  know,  not  having  been  taught, 
tin;  sure  action  of  alcohol  on  liver  and  lungs 
and  stomach,  and,  above  all,  brain. 

It  will  surely  not  be  considered  strange 
that  such  was  the  case,  when  you  remem- 
ber that  apparently  only  about  one  physi- 


144  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

cian  in  a  hundred  understands  anything  of 
tli  is  matter !  Poor  Eben  Bruce  was  not  a 
physician,  and  was  as  ignorant  as  a  babe 
about  some  things  which  he  ought  to  have 
learned  at  his  mother's  knee. 

Do  you  need  to  be  told  that  he  made  a 
discovery  that  afternoon  ?  Yes  ;  it  happened 
that  he  had  lived  to  be  twenty-one  years 
of  age  without  ever  having  tasted  anything 
that  can  intoxicate.  He  had  lived  a  shel- 
tered home  life,  and  had  not  chanced  to 
associate  with  people  who  tempted  him. 
But  it  happened  also  that  the  first  taste 
awakened  a  demon  within  him  that  may 
have  been  sleeping  for  generations  back,  for 
aught  that  I  know.  Probably,  if  you  care 
to  trace  back  the  genealogical  record  of 
the  Bruce  family,  on  the  father's  or  the 
mother's  side,  you  may  find  a  reason  for 
this  sudden  flaming  into  life  of  a  taste 
that  was  almost  a  passion,  ready  to  con- 
sume this  unguarded  young  man. 

Anyway,  whether  you  do  or  not,  it  was 
there.  And  you  know,  or  at  least  you 
ought  to  know,  that  there  are  hundreds 


A    VICTIM    OF    CIRCUMSTANCE.  145 

and  thousands  like  him,  and  that  they  are 
growing  up  in  homes  all  about  you  —  their 
danger  you  do  not  suspect.  Now,  what 
will  be  the  inevitable  result  of  that  after- 
noon's work?  So  far  as  the  immediate  re- 
sult is  concerned,  after  the  first  glass,  the 
victim  wanted  another  and  another;  he 
alarmed  his  four  companions ;  they  tried 
to  restrain  him ;  they  plunged  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  ravine ;  they  had  such  an 
afternoon  as  they  had  not  planned  and  will 
not  soon  forget.  They  succeeded  at  last  in 
getting  their  lunatic  to  throw  himself  down 
on  a  bed  of  ferns  and  mosses,  where  he 
sank  into  the  strangest  sleep  that  his  life 
had  ever  known.  And,  when  he  awakened 
was  it  a  wonder  that  his  eyes  were  blood- 
shot and  his  step  unsteady,  and  that  his 
head  throbbed,  and  that  the  pain  in  it  was 
blinding? 

They  did  not  dare,  those  four,  that  he 
should  be  seen  by  others  of  the  company ; 
he  bore  too  distinctly  the  mark  of  his 
shame.  In  fact,  he  was  not  yet  himself,  but 
demanded  more  of  the  poison,  and  was  fierce 


146  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

because  there  was  none  for  him.  They  hur- 
ried him  to  the  smoking  car ;  they  found 
him  a  chance  to  lie  down;  they  stood  guard 
over  him.  When  Lloyd  McLean  came  iu 
anxious  search,  they  explained  that  it  was 
a  sudden  headache  which  had  attacked  him, 
but  that  he  was  sleeping  now,  and  they  felt 
sure  that  rest  was  what  he  needed. 

"  Pie  has  been  overworking,"  Lloyd  said, 
standing  doubtfully  by  the  side  of  the 
sleeper,  whose  face  was  carefully  shielded 
from  view.  "  He  studied  last  night  until 
after  midnight,  and  does  so  nearly  every 
evening." 

"It  is  undoubtedly  that  which  has  caused 
this  attack,"  Fred  Fleming  said,  eagerly. 
"  I  noticed  that  he  looked  very  pale  and 
worn  when  lie  came  np  this  afternoon. 
Oh !  he  needs  rest ;  he  will  be  better,  no 
doubt,  for  this  nap.  I  will  attend  to  his 
comfort  when  we  reach  the  depot.  You 
have  a  lady  in  charge  this  afternoon,  have 
you  not,  McLean?  Just  so.  Well,  I  will 
see  that  your  friend  gets  to  his  room  and 
his  bed  all  right.  I  told  our  Jim  to  be  at 


A    VICTIM   OF    CIRCUMSTANCE.  147 

the  depot  with  my  phaeton,  and  I'll  just 
drive  around  to  your  boarding-house  and 
see  that  he  is  comfortable.  Oh  !  thanks 
are  not  necessary ;  I  am  glad  to  do  it. 
Yes,  we  were  on  the  grounds  all  the  after- 
noon; but  we  went  off  on  a  tramp  through 
the  ravine,  and  got  farther  in  than  we  in- 
tended. Bruce  is  a  little  overdone  with 
the  exercise,  too,  I  presume." 

And  the  door  closed  on  Lloyd,  who  went 
back  to  his  car  and  reported  that  his  friend 
was  suffering  from  nervous  headache,  but 
the  boys  who  had  taken  him  in  charge 
were  very  kind  —  warm-hearted  fellows,  evi- 
dently, if  they  were  a  little  wild.  And  "the 
boys"  laughed  as  the  door  closed  after 
him,  and  Fred  Fleming,  drawing  a  re- 
lieved breath,  declared  himself  glad  that 
none  of  the  sharper-eyed  fellows  hud  come 
in  search  of  their  victims,  for  if  this  thing 
got  out  there  would  be  no  end  of  talk, 
which  would  not  be  pleasant  for  the  old 
folks. 

And  I  can  not  help  wondering  what 
poor  Eben  Bruce's  lady  mother  would  have 


148  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

thought,  could  she  have  seen  her  sheltered 
boy  then !  What  is  to  be  the  fate  of  such 
as  he  ?  Shielded  by  no  promise,  either  to 
mother  or  to  God.  Left  vulnerable,  through 
ignorance,  at  almost  every  point  of  attack. 
Inheriting  a  wild  passion  for  the  poison, 
which  makes  it  seem  almost  impossible,  for 
one  unused  to  resisting,  to  resist  —  a  passion 
all  the  more  fierce  and  dangerous,  perhaps, 
because  not  suspected  heretofore,  not  un- 
derstood now.  God  pity  all  such  young 
men !  Their  mothers  have  failed  them  ; 
their  teachers,  both  in  the  day  and  Sab- 
bath-school, have  failed  them  ;  the  country, 
which  is  bound  to  protect  them,  has  failed 
them.  How  are  they  to  be  saved  from  their 
almost  inevitable  doom  ? 

"Well,  old  fellow,  so  you  went  to  the 
picnic  after  all ;  and  so  did  I  ;  and  we  were 
invisible,  each  to  the  other,  it  seems,  the 
whole  afternoon.  You  had  a  time  of  it,  I 
guess.  And,  by  the  way  you  tossed  about  and 
muttered  all  night,  the  night  was  as  bad  as 
the  day.  What  set  you  into  such  a  raging 


A    VICTIM   OF   CIRCUMSTANCE.  149 

headache?  Why,  man,  you  look  as  though 
you  had  had  a  fit  of  sickness.  Your  eyes 
are  bloodshot.  What  do  you  suppose  has 
upset  you  so  ?  " 

"  Fate,"  said  Eben  Bruce,  laconically, 
turning  on  his  pillow,  so  that  his  eyes 
could  not  be  seen  by  the  sympathetic  ones 
of  Lloyd  McLean.  "  How  came  you  to 
go  ? "  he  asked,  presently  wondering  vaguely 
in  his  mind  if  he  had  known  *that  McLean 
was  there,  whether  he  would  have  sought 
him  out,  and  the  whole  afternoon  have  been 
different. 

"Oh!  it  was  an  eleventh  hour  reprieve. 
Haskell  found  that  he  couldn't  carry  out 
his  schemes,  so  he  let  me  off.  I  tried  to 
find  you,  but  they  said  you  had  gone  out 
for  the  afternoon.  I  went  out  of  my  way 
to  see  if  you  were  not  at  the  doctor's  of- 
fice, smelling  of  his  musty  books,  but  he 
sat  on  the  piazza,  and  said  you  hadn't  been 
there.  Then  I  flew,  and  had  just  time  to 
swing  myself  on  the  train." 

"  He  did  not  sit  on  the  piazza  when  I 
was  there,"  said  Eben  Bruce. 


I5O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

There  was  a  shade  of  bitterness  in  his 
tone.  "If  the  doctor  had  been  at  home!" 
That  was  what  lie  thought.  The  fact  is, 
the  poor  young  man  had  not  been  brought 
up  to  be  self-reliant,  nor  }-et  to  lean  on  peo- 
ple who  were  strong  enough  to  support  his 
weight.  And  he  made  the  curious  blunder, 
too,  which  nearly  all  such  characters  do 
make,  of  supposing  himself  to  be  very  strong 
in  character,  simply  because  he  was  obstinate. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  yourself  all  the 
afternoon  ?  "  questioned  Lloyd,  bustling  about 
to  finish  his  somewhat  belated  toilet.  "  You 
fell  in  with  a  queer  set,  I  should  say ! 
Were  you  with  those  fellows  all  the  time  ? 
Poor  victim !  If  I  had  had  the  ghost  of  a 
thought  that  you  were  on  the  ground  I 
should  have  hunted  you  up.  I  stepped  into 
very  high-toned  society ;  spent  half  the  af- 
ternoon listening  to  the  orator.  He  gave  us 
a  first-class  temperance  address  right  there 
on  the  cliff." 

Poor  Eben  rolled  over  in  the  bed,  and 
emitted  something  between  a  sigh  and  a 
groan. 


A   VICTIM    OF   CIRCUMSTANCE.  151 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Lloyd,  pausing  long 
enough  to  give  him  a  sympathetic  glance, 
"your  head  is  raging  yet,  isn't  it?  I  wish 
you  had  been  with  us ;  we  had  a  quiet 
time,  and  it  would  have  done  you  more 
good  than  tramping  around  in  the  woods. 
What  possessed  those  fellbws  to  drag  3rou  off 
into  the  ravine  ?  They  are  not  particularly 
given  to  studying  the  beauties  of  nature, 
as  a  general  thing.  We  had  some  rather 
interesting  scenes  up  on  the  cliff.  Durant 
knows  how  to  talk,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  that 
Josie  Fleming  succeeded  in  making  almost 
a  total  abstinence  fellow  of  me  ;  I  think  if 
I  should  meet  her  twice  more,  I  should  be 
entirely  converted." 

"Josie  Fleming!  Is  her  influence  in  that 
line?  It  is  more  than  her  brother  accom- 
plished for  me." 

The  latter  part  of  the  sentence  was  mut- 
tered, and  lost  on  Lloyd,  because  of  his  in- 
terest in  what  he  was  about  to  say. 

"  Decidedly  in  that  line  ;  she  talks  like 
such  a  first-class  idiot  that  you  feel  as 
though  you  must  get  out  of  her  line  right 


152  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

away  in  order  to  have  an  ounce  of  self-re- 
spect left.  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  if  I  had 
a  brother  who  lived  as  fast  a  life  as  they 
say  Fred  Fleming  does,  I  would  take  care 
not  to  try  to  trample  on  him  as  she  did 
with  her  tongue  yesterday.  You  never  heard 
a  girl  talk  more  like  a  simpleton!  She 
received  some  splendid  answers,  though.  I 
should  like  to  hear  Durant  lecture.  The  fact 
is,  Eben,  you  and  I  ought  to  have  changed 
places  yesterday ;  the  company  I  fell  into 
would  have  been  more  in  your  line ;  intel- 
lectual, you  know.  That  crisp  little  old 
maid,  who  lives  in  the  large,  old-fashioned 
house  back  of  the  elms,  advanced  some 
ideas  that  were  like  a  frosty  evening  after 
a  hot  day.  You  would  enjoy  her,  Eben ; 
she  is  original.  Well,  what  do  you  mean  to 
do  next  ?  You'll  have  to  lie  by  to-day,  I 
guess.  You  don't  look  fit  to  lift  your  head 
from  the  pillow.  Shall  I  report  you  at  head- 
quarters as  under  the  weather?" 

"No,"  said  Eben,  "I'll  get  up  when  you 
get  out  of  the  way,  and  I'll  go  to  the  store 
as  usual.  What  do  they  care  for  headaches  ?  " 


A   VICTIM    OF    CIRCUMSTANCE.  153 

"  He  ought  to  have  a  rest  of  some  sort," 
Lloyd  McLean  said  to  himself,  as  he  closed 
the  door  on  his  friend.  "  He  is  getting 
completely  knocked  up  over  night  work,  I 
believe ;  but  an  afternoon  in  the  woods  has 
not  clone  much  for  him ;  now  I  feel  made 
over.  I  wish  I  had  gone  in  search  of 
Eben,  and  smuggled  him  into  our  set;  that 
was  the  sort  of  company  which  he  could 
have  enjoyed." 

Ah,  me  !  how  often  afterward  Llo}'d 
McLean  wished  just  that  thing.  Why 
need  people  be  so  blind  ?  Why  must  the 
gay,  light-hearted  young  fellow  have  chat- 
tered on  that  morning,  so  full  of  his  own 
life,  that  he  could  not  see  there  was  more 
than  a  common  headache  holding  his  room- 
mate prisoner  ?  Oh,  for  a  friend  just  then ! 
Some  one  with  wide  open  eyes,  and 
wide  open  heart,  and  wise  forethought,  to 
have  stepped  in  to  his  aid  ;  some  one  who 
would  have  understood  the  unnatural  look 
on  the  usually  pale  cheeks,  and  the  unna- 
tural gleam  in  the  eyes.  Mr.  Durant  was 
far  on  his  Westward  journey  this  morning. 


154  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Mr.  Cleveland  was  busy  among  the  grape- 
vines in  his  garden,  scanning  them  with 
critical  eyes,  and  determining  which 
needed  training,  and  which  needed  prun- 
ing. Charlie  Lambert  was  sitting  in  the 
door  of  his  office  smoking  a  cigar,  and  try- 
ing to  decide  how  he  would  excuse  himself 
to  Miss  Wainwright  for  not  attending  the 
projected  prayer  meeting,  and  Lloyd  Mc- 
Lean, having  harried  through  his  belated 
breakfast,  was  hurrying  down  street,  whist- 
ling, his  mind  full  of  pleasant  remem- 
brances of  his  holiday.  There  was  no  one 
to  watch  the  human  vine  which  so  sadly 
needed  culture  this  morning.  There  was 
no  one  to  understand  the  trembling  of  the 
unsteady  hands  which  worked  over  the 
refractory  buttons.  Nobody  noticed  that  he 
ate  nothing  at  all  at  the  uninvited  break- 
fast-table ;  that  he  turned  with  loathing, 
even  from  the  coffee,  because  it  was  both 
cold  and  weak ;  nobody  would  have  cared 
if  they  had  seen  him.  There  was  a  letter 
awaiting  him  from  his  mother ;  but  it  was 
brief,  and  told  him  that  she  felt  over- 


A   VICTIM   OF    CIRCUMSTANQp.  155 

worked  and  ill,  and  that  she  did  not  rec- 
ognize his  last  letter  at  first,  because  of 
the  rou-.jh,  ungainly  appearance  of  the 
cheap  envelope.  Did  he  really  feel  re- 
duced to  this?  Why,  yes;  she  supposed  it 
was  as  good  as  a  poor  clerk  could  afford; 
she  must  remember  that  they  were  less 
than  nothing  now;  it  did  not  matter  what 
such  people  used,  she  supposed.  He  curled 
his  lip  bitterly  over  the  words.  In  his 
present  unnatural  mood  they  seemed  to 
him  to  say  much  more  than  they  did.  He 
crumpled  the  letter  in  a  heap,  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket,  and  went  out,  saying 
aloud : 

"  No,  it  doesn't  matter ;  nothing  matters. 
I  can  never  be  anything  now ;  I  need  not 
try." 

Doctor  Brandon  passed  him,  with  a  hur- 
ried, preoccupied  bow.  It  had  occurred  to 
the  doctor  once  or  twice  to  wonder  whether 
he  could  not  get  those  young  men  into  his 
Bible  class,  and  he  meant,  some  time, 
when  he  had  leisure,  to  drop  in  and  have 
a  chat  with  them ;  but  on  this  particular 


156  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

morning  lie  was  deep  in  thought  over  a 
theological  question  on  which  he  had  just 
been  reading  an  exhaustive  argument,  and 
he  went  with  swift  steps,  over  the  very 
road  which  Eben  Bruce  must  take.  They 
might  have  walked  together,  and  words 
might  have  been  dropped  which  would 
have  changed  the  history  of  the  day.  Who 
knows  ?  I  know  that  they  didn't.  And 
that  Eben  Bruce  halted,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  at  the  door  of  a  gilded  saloon, 
which  occupied  the  corner  around  which 
Doctor  Brandon  had  passed  in  safety,  and 
went  in  and  ordered  a  glass  of  brandy ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

FRUIT   FKOM   THE  PICNIC. 

IN  Mrs.  Copeland's  pretty  little  dining- 
room  there  was  trouble.  Mrs.  Copeland 
was  polishing  the  silver  teaspoons,  which 
had  worn  themselves  thin  in  her  grand- 
mother's service,  and  were  few  in  .number, 
and  represented  the  very  small  stock  of 
silver  which  the  Copeland  family  possessed. 
There  were  two  bright  spots  glowing  on  the 
lady's  cheeks,  not  caused  by  the  warmth 
of  the  room,  for  the  fire  had  died 
down ;  the  windows  were  set  wide  open, 
for  Kate  Hartzell  had  a  duster  in  her 
hand,  and  had  just  been  using  it  faithfully. 
Her  face  wore  a  distressed  look,  and  the 
tears  in  her  eyes  were  bent  on  coming  to 
the  surface  if  they  could.  Fannie  was  there, 
in  a  trim  morning  dress,  preparing  to  iron 

»57 


158  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

a  ruffled   and   tucked  garment,   which   needed 
time   and    skill. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  are  resolved  upon  it, 
I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  I .  have  no 
right  to  restrain  you,  even  if  I  felt  inclined, 
and  I  am  sure  we  do  not  want  you  to 
stay  with  us,  if  you  prefer  to  go ;  but  I 
must  say  I  am  surprised." 

Kate  struggled  with  her  voice  to  keep  it 
clear. 

"Mrs.  Copeland,  I  don't  know  how  to 
tell  you  how  hard  it  will  be  to  do  it.  I 
have  looked  forward  to  my  home  here  this 
winter  with  such  pleasure.  Surely  you  know 
that  I  would  not  leave  such  a  place  as 
this  for  such  a  home  as  I  am  going  to  if 
I  could  see  any  other  way  to  do." 

"I  don't  understand  such  talk  as  that," 
the  lady  answered  coldly.  "You  were  aware 
that  you  had  a  father  and  brother  when 
you  came  here ;  they  are  in  no  worse  cir- 
cumstances, I  suppose,  than  they  were  when 
I  took  you  into  my  hoi^e  ;  I  don't  see 
how  they  well  could  be,  I  am  sure.  I 
don't  know  why  you  should  suddenly  be 


FRUIT   FROM    THE    PICNIC.  159 

impressed  with  the  idea  that  it  is  your 
duty  to  go  back  and  grovel  with  them.  I 
should  think  your  self-respect  would  hold 
you  from  doing  so.  It  is  unaccountable  to 
me,  'I  must  say!"  While  she  spoke  the 
color  deepened  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  in- 
dignation seemed  to  rise  at  every  word. 
"  I  am  sure  I  have  spared  no  pains  to 
make  you  feel  at  home  and  happy ;  and  to 
give  you  advantages ;  and  Fannie  has  treated 
you  more  like  a  companion  than  like  a 
servant.  She  even  arranged  that  you  should 
attend  the  picnic  in  her  company,  and  have 
as  pleasant  a  time  as  the  rest  of  them." 

But  there  was  something  in  this  sentence 
which  made  Fannie  blush ;  she  could  hardly 
help  remembering  how  little  she  hud  con- 
tributed to  Kate's  happiness  on  that  occa- 
sion. 

"  O,  mamma !  "  she  murmured,  "  never 
mind  that." 

"  I  am  not  minding  it,  daughter,"  Mrs. 
Copeland  said,  with  dignity.  "  It  is  of  no 
consequence,  of  course  ;  people  don't  do  such 
things  for  the  sake  of  the  gratitude  which 


l6O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

they  will  receive  in  return.  I  am  only 
suggesting  to  Kate  that  she  has  had  cer- 
tain advantages  here  which  she  would  not 
be  likely  to  have  in  every  home/' 

"  I  have  had  everything,  Mrs.  Copeland, 
and  I  shall  never  be  able  to  tell  you  how 
grateful  I  ain  for  all  that  you  have  done 
for  me  in  the  last  few  months.  I  can 
never  forget  it.  I  go  away  because  I  think 
I  ought.  I  did  not  know  I  was  shirking 
my  duty  when  I  left  my  father  and  brother. 
I  could  not  see  that  I  had  any  duty 
toward  them.  I  did  not  know  a  thing  to 
do  ;  but  now  I  have  discovered  ways  in 
which  I  might  possibly  reach  them.  I  can 
not  help  thinking  that  I  ought  to  try.  O, 
Mrs.  Copeland,  they  are  human  beings,  and 
they  may  be  saved  !  " 

It  was  not  possible  to  be  deaf  to  the 
piteous  cry  there  was  in  the  young  girl's 
voice.  Mrs.  Copeland  felt  it  and  was  si- 
lent for  a  full  minute.  Silent  but  not  con- 
vinced. She  spoke  coldly  at  last. 

"You  can  help  them  better  by  retaining 
your  respectability  than  by  sinking  to  their 


FRUIT   FROM    THE    PICNIC.  l6l 

level.  How  any  girl  of  your  capabilities, 
and  with  your  opportunity  for  escape,  can 
think  for  a  moment  of  dropping  back 
into  that  hovel  to  live  like  the  pigs,  is 
more  than  I  can  imagine.  There  must  be 
something  wrong." 

She  had  talked  herself  into  indignation 
again.  Kate  had  no  words  ready.  The  tears 
were  having  their  way  now  in  spite  of 
her. 

Fannie  ironed  with  rapid  hands,  and  the 
silver  spoons  took  such  a  polishing  as  they 
had  not  received  in  months.  It  was  Fan- 
nie who  found  voice  first. 

"  Mamma,  will  you  let  that  Haines  girl 
come  and  try  it,  if  Kate  goes  away  ? " 

"No,  Fannie,  I  will  not.  I  have  no  time 
nor  heart  for  any  more  experiments  of  the 
sort.  I  have  given  all  the  clothing  I  could 
spare  to  Kate ;  and  your  father  is  not  in 
circumstances  to  do  more  than  we  have 
done ;  besides,  as  I  say,  I  have  no  heart 
for  the  effort.  What  does  it  amount  to? 
We  may  as  well  determine  to  save  our 
sympathy  and  get  along  alone." 


l62  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY, 

If  Mrs.  Copeland  had  known  how  every 
word  she  uttered  burned  in  the  heart  of 
the  desolate  girl  before  her,  she  would  have 
closed  her  lips  firmly  and  let  not  one  es- 
cape. The  trouble  was,  she  considered  her- 
self an  ill-used  woman.  She  had  been  kind 
to  Kate  Hartzell  since  the  first  time  she 
saw  and  was  struck  with  her  pure,  sad  face, 
and  inquired  who  she  was,  and  learned 
with  intense  dismay  and  deep  pity  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  Old  Hartzell  the  drunk- 
ard, who  had  been  living  with  an  aunt  un- 
til now.  The  aunt  was  dead,  and  the 
daughter  had  come  home  to  misery  and 
poverty  such  as  the  respectably  poor  can 
not  even  imagine. 

Mrs.  Copeland  was  not  a  benevolent 
woman  in  the  large  sense  of  that  term. 
She  was  a  loving  and  faithful  mother,  an 
excellent  housekeeper,  a  member  of  the 
church,  who  was  generally  in  her  pew  on 
Sabbath  morning,  a  member  of  the  'Mis- 
sionary Society,  giving  her  ten  cents  a 
month  without  outward  grudging,  when  the 
collectors  called  for  it ;  but  she  never  at- 


FRUIT    FROM   THE   PICNIC.  163 

tended  the  meetings  —  for  lack  of  time,  she 
said,  and  honestly  thought  it  was  true,  and 
she  occasionally  remarked  to  Fannie,  or  to  a 
very  intimate  friend,  that  if  the  ladies  would 
interest  themselves  in  the  poor  of  the  town, 
and  save  their  ten-cent  pieces  to  dress  up 
some  of  the  Sunday-school  children,  she 
thought  it  would  be  quite  as  well.  She  had 
what  is  called  a  warm  heart  —  that  is,  when 
any  case  of  actual  suffering  came  to  her 
ears,  she  was  ready  with  her  sympathy  and 
with  what  means  she  had  to  help  in  an 
emergency ;  but  anything  like  systematic 
warm-heartedness,  anything  like  going  out 
into  the  world  and  looking  right  and  left 
for  the  people  who  possibly  needed  sympa- 
thy, and  flannel,  and  beefsteak,  never  en- 
tered her  mind.  The  poor  must  come  to 
her,  must  represent  their  needs,  and  make 
good  their  claim  to  something  like  respect- 
ability if  they  wanted  her  help. 

The  widest  step  out  of  the  beaten  track 
that  she  had  taken  was  to  reach  after  this 
Kate  Hartzell,  knowing  nothing  about  her 
but  her  interesting  face,  and  neat  dress, 


164  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

and  the  fact  that  she  had  sought  out  the 
Sabbath-school,  and  joined  a  class,  and 
learned  her  lesson.  Mrs.  Copeland,  watch- 
ing her  one  Sabbath,  had  resolved  to  ex- 
periment. Doctor  Copeland  was  a  physician 
with  an  extensive  country  practice,  a  hard 
country  ride,  and  a  large  class  of  poor  pa- 
tients whom  he  grumbled  about  and  served 
faithfully.  He  managed,  as  the  years  went 
b}%  to  get  for  himself  a  neat  home,  and  to 
support  his  family  comfortably.  It  had 
taken  management  and  thrift  to  do  this. 
Doctor  Copeland  had  been  heard  more  than 
once  to  say  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  his 
wife's  excellent  seconding,  they  could  never 
have  done  as  well  as  they  had  —  that 
Eastwood  was  the  best  town  he  knew  of 
for  a  doctor  to  keep  busy  and  poor.  How- 
ever, by  dint  of  very  careful  economy  they 
had  sent  Fannie  for  one  year  to  an  excel- 
lent school,  and  they  had  ambitions  which, 
as  yet,  they  hardly  dared  mention,  even  to 
each  other,  for  their  one  boy,  Holly. 

There     was     certainly    reason    for    economy 
in     the     Copeland     family.      This     was     why 


FRUIT    FROM   THE    PICNIC.  165 

Mrs.  Copeland  had  hesitated,  even  when 
her  sympathies  were  drawn  out  toward  the 
girl  who  came  every  Sabbath  to  church, 
looking  neat  and  clean,  and  who  came 
from  the  Flats !  Could  she  take  her  from 
that  dreadful  place  into  her  home,  and 
teach  her  to  be  a  notable  housekeeper,  and 
teach  her  to  sew,  and  to  darn,  and  to  be 
at  home  in  all  the  mysteries  of  home  life  ? 
What  a  blessing  that  would  be  for  the 
girl !  She  could  dress  her  out  of  Fannie's 
outgrown  clothing,  for  Fannie  was  tall, 
and  Kate  was  short,  and  Fannie  was  in 
school  and  had  left  many  things  at  home 
not  suitable  for  school  life  ;  and  it  was 
lonely  in  her  kitchen,  with  Fannie  always 
away,  and  Holly  at  school,  and  Doctor 
Copeland  riding  over  the  country,  night  as 
well  as  day.  If  the  girl  proved  to  be  neat 
and  quiet  and  respectable  as  she  looked, 
might  she  not  become  in  time  a  comfort? 
There  had  been  much  thinking,  and  some 
talking  with  the  busy  doctor,  who  was  dis- 
posed at  all  times  to  think  that  what  his 
wife  thought,  must  be  the  right  thing,  and 


1 66  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

at     last,     with     many    misgivings,     she     ven- 
tured. 

The  few  people  who  knew  anything 
about  it  had  shaken  their  heads  at  her, 
and  said  that  it  was  a  hazardous  experi- 
ment to  take  a  girl  from  the  Flats ;  but  Mrs. 
Copeland,  having  resolved,  was  not  one  to 
give  much  thought  to  shaking  heads.  Kate 
was  sent  for  and  interviewed,  and  came 
promptly  into  the  Copeland  kitchen,  feel- 
ing a  little  like  one  who  had  been  impris- 
oned in  a  dungeon,  and  had  suddenly  gone 
to  heaven !  She  did  not  grow  into  being  a 
comfort.  She  jumped  instantly  into  that 
character.  She  had  not  been  in  the  Cope- 
land  home  for  twenty-four  hours  before 
Holly  became  her  firm  friend  and  ally, 
and  Doctor  Copeland  pronounced  her  a  handy 
creature,  and  Mrs.  Copeland  congratulated 
herself  that  she  had  certainly  done  a  kind 
and  benevolent  thing  for  the  girl,  and  a 
comfortable  thing  for  herself.  Thencefor- 
ward for  some  months  life  went  on 
smoothly  at  the  Copelands.  Then,  Fannie 
came  home;  tall,  beautiful  girl  that  she 


FRUIT    FROM    THE    PICNIC.  l6/ 

was,  with  a  cheery  heart  and  a  sunny 
voice,  and  took  kindly  to  the  interloper, 
finding  it  comfortable  to  have  her  share  of 
the  kitchen  work  done  for  her  by  deft  and 
willing  fingers ;  finding  it  pleasanter  to  be- 
stow little  cheery  favors,  which  cost  noth- 
ing, on  one  who  was  so  grateful  and  so 
helpful.  The  first  break  to  the  comfort 
had  been  when  the  mother  resolved  that 
Kate  should  have  a  holiday,  and  go  to  the 
picnic,  where  all  the  town  was  going,  and 
that  Fannie  should  take  her  with  her  and 
look  after  her  a  little.  She  had  not  meant 
that  Kate  should  be  considered  a  compan- 
ion of  her  daughter,  exactly,  though  she 
had  not  given  a  great  deal  of  thought  to 
that  matter;  it  was  just  a  sudden  remem- 
brance of  the  fact  that  the  girl  was  young, 
and  never  had  chances  to  make  one  of 
merry  parties  like  other  girls,  and  a  sud- 
den resolve  that  for  once  she  should  go. 
The  woods  were  ample,  there  was  plenty 
of  lunch  and  Kate  would  look  after  the 
basket,  and  the  napkins  and  the  dishes, 
as  Fannie  never  did,  and  Fannie  could  see 


l68  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

that  Kate  had  what  help  she  needed  in 
getting  through  the  ravine,  and,  for  the 
rest,  young  people  could  take  care  of  them- 
selves. Mrs.  Copeland  gave  very  little 
thought  to  the  whims  of  society ;  in  fact, 
she  was  above  many  of  them. 

Well,  as  you  know,  the  girl  went  to  the 
picnic;  and  Mrs.  Copeland  looked  after 
the  party  complacently,  and  said  that  Kate 
looked  as  neat  and  appeared  as  well  as 
any  of  them ;  and  she  felt  pleased  with 
herself  all  the  afternoon  and  for  days  af- 
terward. Whenever  she  looked  at  Kate 
or  thought  of  her,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  done  a  nice  thing  in  rescuing  the 
girl  from  the  miseries  of  the  Flats  and  set- 
ting her  down  among  respectable  people, 
and  giving  her  opportunities  for  holidays  and 
nice  times. 

Now,  five  days  after  the  picnic  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  thing  of  the  past,  came  this 
sudden  revelation  from  Kate.  She  had 
been  thinking  about  it  for  several  days, 
and  now  she  had  resolved  that  her  duty 
was  to  go  back  to  the  tumble-down  house 


FRUIT   FROM    THE   PICNIC.  169 

on  the  Flats,  the  worst  one  in  the  row,  and 
help  her  sick  sister-in-law  to  try  to  make  a 
home  for  the  father  and  brother.  She  had 
heard  that  the  sister-in-law  was  sick,  and 
that  things  were  at  their  worst,  but  she 
had  not  seen  her  duty  clear,  nor  known, 
indeed,  of  anything  that  she  could  do  until 
now.  Perhaps  she  could  do  nothing  now, 
but,  at  least,  she  could,  and  must,  try.  And 
Mrs.  Copeland  was  astonished,  and  hurt, 
and  indignant.  She  thought  she  was  being 
badly  treated. 

Kate    found   words  at   last. 

"  Mrs.  Copeland,  there  is  nothing  in  life 
too  hard  for  me  to  do  for  you,  to  show  you 
my  gratitude,  if  I  knew  anything  to  do. 
But  I  can  not  get  away  from  the  feeling 
that  I  must  try  to  save  father  and  John. 
Father  is  growing  old ;  he  is  sick ;  he  can 
not  live  long.  Can  I  have  him  die  a  drunk- 
ard, and  make  no  effort  to  save  him  ? 
Mother  went  to  Heaven,  Mrs.  Copela'nd, 
and  she  begged  my  father  to  meet  her 
there,  and  I  am  afraid  he  never  will;  and 
the  only  daughter  he  had  has  deserted 


I7O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

him,  and  is  living  in  comfort,  while  he 
draws  every  day  nearer  to  the  dreadful  end. 
I  mustn't  do  it,  Mrs.  Copeland.  My  eyes 
have  been  opened ;  I  dare  not  do  it.  I  will 
never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me, 
and  if  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can 
ever  pay  it,  you  may  be  sure  I  will.  But 
I  know  that  I  must  go.  I  will  not  take 
any  of  the  clothes  you  gave  me.  I  will 
leave  them  for  you  to  help  somebody  else, 
as  you  have  me,  and  I  will  not  go  while 
you  have  company,  or  until  you  can  spare 
me  as  well  as  not;  but  I  must  go  and  try. 
And  oh  I  Mrs.  Copeland,  you  are  a  Chris- 
tian ;  I  beg  you  to  pray  for  father  and 
John.  John  was  so  handsome  and  noble 
once,  and  father  was  kind  and  good." 

The  tears  came  now  in  a  perfect  passion, 
and  had  their  way  without  check  for  some 
minutes.  They  did  not  soften  Mrs.  Cope- 
laud.  She  had  but  little  knowledge  of  hu- 
man nature ;  but  little  acquaintance  with 
the  depths  of  the  human  heart.  She  saw, 
in  this  outburst,  only  a  touch  of  the  senti- 
mentalism  which  she  believed  to  be  ram- 


FRUIT   FROM   THE   PICNIC.  171 

pant  in  all  young  people,  unless  held  in 
severe  check.  It  took  a  somewhat  peculiar 
form,  it  is  true ;  the  girl  must  have  gotten 
hold  of  some  trashy  book,  which  had  given 
her  a  desire  to  become  a  heroine,  and  this 
was  the  most  startling  guise  in  which  she 
could  bring  it  to  pass.  She  saw  no  possi- 
ble good  that  could  come  from  the  girl's 
going  down  among  that  set  to  live.  Here 
it  was  only  yesterday  that  she  was  con- 
gratulating herself,  as  she  stood  at  the 
corner,  and  waited  for  the  father  to  reel 
by,  over  the  fact  that  she  had  rescued  the 
girl  from  a  life  of  shame.  What  was  the 
use  in  trying  to  do  benevolent  things  if 
they  ended  so  ignominiously  ?  As  she 
thought  it  all  over,  her  cold  indignation 
grew. 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  make  such 
alarming  sacrifices,  Kate.  You  are  welcome 
to  all  that  has  been  given  you.  They  might 
have  been  bestowed,  it  is  true,  on  some 
one  who  would  have  valued  them  more, 
but  they  certainly  will  not  be  given  away 
again  by  me.  Take  them  and  do  what  you 


ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


like  with  them.  And  if  you  are  resolved 
on  a  course  which  I  think  wrong  and  un- 
grateful, you  may  go  at  once.  I  do  not 
want  any  delay  on  my  account.  It  would 
simply  be  a  trial  to  me  to  see  you  around." 

There  had  come  another  into  the  family 
group  during  the  last  ten  minutes.  This 
was  Holly,  a  boy  of  fourteen,  large  for  his 
years,  and  manly  looking.  His  eyes,  which 
were  brimming  with  fnn  when  he  dashed 
into  the  room,  changed  into  wondering  ones, 
as  he  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of 
this  excited  trio,  and  grew  grave  and 
troubled  as  he  listened.  Then  at  last  they 
flashed.  He  came  with  quick  steps  over  to 
Kate's  side.  He  had  heard  her  last  passion- 
ate cry  to  be  understood. 

"  I  believe  in  you,  Kate  ;  I  don't  want 
you  to  go  away,  not  a  bit;  but  I  guess 
you  are  doing  right.  I  know  you  are,  if 
you  think  so,  for  you  always  do  what's 
right.  I  hope  you  will  get  your  father  and 
brother  to  reform  ;  and  I'll  help  all  I  can. 
I'm  going  to  do  all  of  that  kind  of  work 
I  can  ;  I've  made  up  my  mind." 


FRUIT    FROM   THE    PICNIC.  1 73 

What  the  great  brown  eyes,  that  smiled 
on  him  through  tears,  said  to  the  boy,  I 
shall  not  attempt  to  say.  Speech  was  be- 
yond Kate  just  then,  but  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm  as  she  passed,  and  he  looked 
into  her  eyes,  and  nodded,  and  seemed  to 
understand. 

"  Holly,"  said  his  mother,  coldly,  "  have 
you  been  reading  dime  novels,  too?" 

"Mamma,"  said  Fannie,  "this  is  some  of 
the  fruit  of  your  picnic  plan.  I  saw  Kate 
getting  dreadfully  excited  over  the  temper- 
ance talk.  If  she  had  not  gone  to  that 
picnic,  all  this  would  not  have  happened." 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  PAST   AND  THE  PRESENT. 

TO  attempt  to  give  you  a  description  of 
the  room  into  which  Kate  Hartzell 
stepped,  toward  the  close  of  a  dull  Novem- 
ber day,  would  be  quite  beyond  my  powers. 
And  yet  certainly  you  ought  to  have  some 
idea  of  it,  if  you  are  going  to  be  inter- 
ested in  the  human  beings  who  called  it 
home.  It  was  simply  a  hovel.  The  pre- 
dominant thing  was  filth.  The  two  small- 
paned  windows  had  lost,  between  them, 
above  and  below,  seven  lights  of  glass. 
Outside,  a  drizzling  rain  was  falling,  and 
sometimes  the  wind  roused  itself  and  sent 
spiteful  gusts  in  at  the  broken  windows. 
A  weak  attempt  had  been  made  to  keep 
the  intruder  out  by  stuffing  an  old  hat, 
and  an  old  towel,  and  a  wad  of  brown 
174 


THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT.       175 

paper,  and,  in  one  instance,  a  rusty  and 
leaky  tin  pan,  through  the  apertures.  There 
were  three  chairs  in  the  room  —  all  of  them 
broken ;  there  was  an'  ill-used,  discouraged- 
looking  stove ;  there  was  a  cupboard,  with 
one  door  hanging  at  the  hinges,  and  the 
other  gone  entirely,  inside  of  which  strag- 
gled a  few  cracked  and  broken  dishes ; 
there  was  a  table,  of  the  old-fashioned  kind, 
with  one  leaf  gone ;  there  was,  in  the 
corner,  what  by  courtesy,  or  from  force  of 
habit,  was  called  a  bed,  and  that  I  will 
not  attempt  to  describe.  If  you  have  seen 
the  beds  in  the  homes  of  drunkards,  you 
have  no  need  of  descriptions ;  and  if  you 
have  not,  words  will  fail  to  give  you  an  idea 
of  them.  Now  you  have  the  sole  furniture 
which  the  room  contained,  and  yet  none 
knows  better  than  I  how  entirely  I  have 
failed  to  give  you  a  picture  of  its  desola- 
tion. I  can  not  show  you  the  dirt  in  the 
corners,  the  cobwebs,  the  fly-marks  and 
mud-marks  on  the  windows,  the  stains  on 
the  floor,  the  grease  on  the  table.  These 
tilings  you  must  imagine.  Kate  saw  them. 


1/  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

As  to  the  human  beings,  there  were  three 
of  them.  Before  I  describe  them  to  you, 
let  me  take  you  back  only  a  decade.  I  want 
to  introduce  you  to  a  handsome  store  in  a 
busy  town,  almost  large  enough  to  be  called 
a  city  —  a  drug  store,  glittering  with  its 
show  of  colored  glass  and  brilliant  liquids, 
and  arranged  with  that  regard  to  lovely 
combinations  of  color  which  is  common  in 
first-class  drug  stores.  There  is  at  one  end 
a  handsome  soda  fountain,  with  all  the  vari- 
ous cooling  syrups  and  elegant  appliances 
of  first-class  establishments.  Just  behind  the 
counter  stands  a  middle-aged  man,  with  a 
smiling  face  and  pleasant  voice.  He  is 
somewhat  portly  in  appearance  and  '  there 
is  a  flush  on  his  face,  and  a  look  in 
his  eyes,  that  to  people  who  are  on 
the  alert  for  these  signs,  speak  of  a 
form  of  fashionable  living,  which  is  more 
or  less  dangerous.  Still,  nobody  ever  ap- 
plies the  term,  so  far  as  I  know,  in  speak- 
ing of  him.  This  is  Mr.  Joel  Hartzell,  one 
of  the  public-spirited  citizens  of  the  town. 
His  name  heads  all  the  subscription  lists 


THE   PAST   AND   THE    PRESENT.  I// 

for  town  improvements,  for  a  new  organ  for 
the  church,  or  a  new  suit  of  clothes  for  a 
home  missionary  box.  Mr.  Hartzell  is  genial, 
benevolent,  kind-hearted,  a  friend  to  the  poor, 
and  a  lover  of  the  choice  wines  and  bran- 
dies which  he  keeps  for  medicinal  purposes. 

In  that  hovel,  which  I  have  been  attempt- 
ing to  bring  before  your  mental  vision,  sits 
an  old,  blear-eyed,  red-nosed  drunkard.  He 
is  trying,  in  a  feeble,  discouraged  way,  to 
dry  the  ragged  shirt  which  has  been  soaked 
through  and  through  in  the  driving  rain. 
He  has  no  shirt  to  change  with  it.  He  is 
at  this  moment  so  much  under  the  influ- 
ence of  liquor  that  he  does  not  notice  the 
spurk  which  lias  snapped  from  the  fitful  fire, 
and  lodged  on  his  shoulder,  in  a  dry  spot, 
and  is  slowly  feeding  itself  into  a  flame. 
But  for  an  exclamation  and  prompt  action 
of  Kate  Hartzell,  the  moment  she  enters 
the  door,  there  might  have  been  a  tragedy 
for  the  morning  papers  at  Eastwood.  This 
is  Old  Joe  Hartzell,  the  most  hopeless  drunk- 
are  who  lives  on  the  Flats. 

So     much   for   ten    years   of    down    grade. 


1^8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

The  property  went  first ;  went  foolishl}r,  be- 
cause of  a  transaction  that  Joel  Hartzell, 
with  clear  brains,  would  never  have  made. 
The  last  scene  in  the  handsome  house,  on 
Arch  street,  was  a  funeral  service,  which 
committed  the  body  of  a  broken-hearted  wife 
to  the  rest  of  the  grave.  She  died  of  a 
broken  heart  —  not  because  the  money  was 
gone  —  for  she  was  a  true  woman,  and  could 
have '  rallied  from  that.  It  was  because  she 
knew  how  it  had  gone,  and  why,  and  fore- 
saw that  this  was  only  the  beginning  of 
the  end. 

But  just  go  back  to  that  store  a  moment. 
There  is  an  unusually  fine-looking  fellow 
leaning  over  the  counter,  in  earnest  conver- 
sation with  his  father.  The  benevolent  face 
of  the  father  is  clouded  a  little.  He  is 
very  fond  of  John,  his  only  son  and  heir ; 
but  John's  demands  for  money  are  becom- 
ing alarmingly  frequent,  and  the  father  is 
almost  afraid  that  his  boy  is  getting  to  be 
"  fast."  There  are  times  when  he  half-wishes 
that  the  temperance  fanatics  would  get  hold 
of  the  boy ;  anything  would  be  better  than 


THE    PAST    AND    THE    PRESENT. 


to  have  him  a  drunkard.  Not  that  there  is 
probably  any  danger  of  that.  He  never  hints 
this  half-wish  to  t;he  son;  on  the  contrary, 
he  sneers,  in  a  good-natured,  benevolent  sort 
of  way  at  the  wild,  and  preposterous,  and 
unconstitutional,  and  impracticable  schemes 
of  the  fanatics,  and  the  bright-eyed,  well- 
dressed,  gentlemanly  son  gets  the  mone}1-, 
sooner  or  later,  all  he  needs.  On  this  par- 
ticular afternoon  he  goes  away  smiling,  with 
his  check  in  his  pocket.  This  is  John  Hart- 
zell,  a  college  youth,  who,  on  rare  occasions, 
when  he  takes  time  to  study,  leads  his  class, 
and  shows  flashes  of  genius  in  more  direc- 
tions than  one  ;  whose  father  is  proud  of 
him,  whose  mother  idolizes  him,  who  is 
called  a  *'  good  fellow  "  by  the  boys,  and  is 
a  favorite  with  the  girls,  and  over  whom 
grave  men  occasionally  shake  their  heads, 
but  admit  that  he  has  talent  of  no  uncom- 
mon order. 

In  that  aforesaid  hovel,  among  the  rags 
of  the  dreadful  bed,  there  lies,  face  down- 
ward, hat  and  boots  still  on,  and  both  cov- 
ered with  mud,  a  wreck  of  a  man,  in  a 


ISO  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

drunken  sleep.  That  is  John  Hartzell,  who 
is  really  a  worse  drunkard  than  his  father, 
because,  though  he  is  oftener  sober,  he  is 
far  uglier  and  more  dangerous  when  he  is 
not  sober ;  and  his  sober  days  are  growing 
fewer  and  farther  between.  So  much  for  ten 
years  of  self-indulgence  in  an  inherited  habit 
of  sin. 

Go  back  again.  Let  me  introduce  you  to 
another  home.  It  is  evening,  and  the  par- 
lors are  lighted,  and  there  is  a  select  com- 
pany to  celebrate  the  seventeenth  birthday 
of  the  petted  darling  of  the  home.  Not  a 
wealthy  home,  but  an  elegant  one,  with  the 
remains  of  what  had  been  wealth  all  about 
it.  The  "  darling "  is  the  only  child  of  a 
widowed  mother,  and  is  bright,  and  beauti- 
ful, and  bewitching  enough  to  fascinate  a 
stronger  brain  than  John  Hartzell's. 

It  is  a  winter  night,  but  she  is  all  in 
white,  because,  appropriate  or  not,  she  will 
not  wear  anything  but  white  on  her  birth- 
day. She  is  going  to  wear  white  on  her 
birthday  until  she  is  eighty  years  old,  she 
gayly  says,  and,  as  John  Hartzell  looks  down 


THE    PAST    AND    THE    PRESENT.  l8l 

on  her,  in  her  rose-colored  ribbons,  he  hopes 
she  will,  and  that  he  will  be  there  to  see 
her.  She  looks  like  a  fairy  to  him  now, 
and  in  her  hand  she  holds  a  goblet,  in  which 
a  red  liquid  glows  and  sparkles. 

"  Try  it,"  she  said,  with  a  winning  smile. 
'•  Mamma  made  it  herself,  and  I  know  it  is 
good.  Mamma's  home-made  wines  always 
have  the  name  of  being  better  than  other 
people's." 

What  nonsense !  For,  mind  you,  John 
Hartzell's  reply  is  that  he  has  never  tasted 
wine.  Up  to  this  point  he  has  been  brought 
up  by  a  mother  who,  though  weak  and  not 
well-posted,  is  yet  afraid,  and  has  tried  feebly 
to  shield  her  boy. 

"  Nonsense  I  "  says  the  siren,  "  as  though 
home-made  wine  could  hurt  anybody!  It 
isn't  like  the  stuff  you  buy.  Just  taste  it. 
Do  you  think  /  would  offer  you  anything 
that  would  hurt  you  ? " 

There  is  reproach  in  the  tone  ;  and  John 
bends  his  handsome  head,  and,  with  mur- 
mured words,  half-nonsense,  half-earnest- 
ness, about  doing  anything  that  she  wanted, 


1 82  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

he  drinks  his  first  glass  of  wine  at  her 
hands !  Poor  thing !  she  does  not  know 
what  she  has  done.  She  is  ignorant^  alike 
of  the  certainties  and  the  possibilities. 
Mother  and  teacher  and  preacher  have 
failed  her.  She  has  come  up  to  seventeen 
years  without  knowledge  on  this  fateful 
subject.  But  back  in  that  hovel,  there  is 
a  woman  with  a  faded  and  soiled  and  torn 
gray  calico  dress,  without  collar  or  ribbon, 
with  hair  combed  straight  back  from  a 
drawn  forehead  and  sunken,  sorrowful 
eyes.  Over  her  temple  is  a  suspicious 
murk ;  John  struck  her  once,  when  he  had 
been  drinking ;  he  would  not  do  it  even  now, 
when  sober ;  if  he  is  really  sober  any  more. 
Her  face  is  tied  around  with  a  coarse, 
brown  towel.  She  took  cold  out  in  the 
ruin  trying  to  drag  her  husband  in  from 
yesterday's  storm  ;  she  has  faceache  now  — 
a  fierce,  grinding  pain,  that  drives  her  at 
times  to  the  very  verge  of  insanity.  She  ex- 
pects, no,  she  faintl}7-  hopes,  that  some- 
thing white  will  be  found  for  her  to  wear 
once  more,  when  they  lay  her  in  her  cof- 


THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT.       183 

iiu;  if  it  is  so  that  she  can  have  a  coffin. 
For  she  believes  that  somebody  beside 
John  will  have  to  pay  for  it  if  she  does. 
And  this  is  the  white-robed  fairy  in 
rose-colored  ribbons.  So  much  for  a  few 
years  of  reaping  one's  own  sowing !  What 
if  the  sowing  was  in  ignorance  ?  The  harvest 
is  just  as  sure.  Where  is  the  weak  and 
wickedly  ignorant  mother?  Gone  to  her 
grave.  Thank  God,  that  so  many,  even  of 
the  mistaken  mothers,  are  covered  by  the 
grave  before  the  harvests  of  their  sowing 
are  fully  ripe !  One  does  not  want  mothers 
to  suffer,  if  it  can  in  any  way  be  helped. 
So  now  you  know  the  people  on  whom 
Kate  Hartzell  looked  that  afternoon  when 
she  came  home  to  stay.  Kate  Hartzell 
who  had  been  only  eight  years  old  when 
her  mother  died  and  the  wreck  came  to 
the  household.  There  had  been  a  wid- 
owed sister  of  the  mother  who  had  car- 
ried her  away,  and  had  brought  her  up  in 
neatness  and  poverty,  and  taught  her  to 
sew  on  the  dresses  which  she  was  forever 
making,  and  to  read  and  write  and  cipher 


184  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

as  far  as  she  herself  was  able  to  take  her, 
and  to  hate  rum  and  all  its  belongings  and 
suggestions,  and  then  had  died  suddenly 
and  left  her  to  hunt  out  the  father  who 
had  buried  his  manhood  in  this  far-away 
town  of  Eastwood,  and  was  known  in  the 
town  only  as  Old  Joe  Hartzell,  another 
drunkard  from  somewhere,  who  had  come 
to  live  on  the  Flats.  Kate  had  been  only 
a  few  weeks  in  the  dreadful  home  when 
Mrs.  Copeland's  curious  eyes  had  sought 
her  out,  and  Mrs.  Copeland  herself  had 
embarked  on  a  benevolent  venture,  which 
had  speedily  brought  her  large  returns, 
until  that  fatal  day  when  she  planned  and 
executed  a  holiday  for  her  faithful  helper, 
and  Kate  had  gone  and  returned  with  new 
ideas  which  had  worked  her  mischief, 
until  now  it  had  culminated  on  this  dreary 
afternoon.  Kate  had  come  home  with  a 
package  under  her  .arm,  and  her  trunk  was 
to  follow  her.  She  had  tried  to  compro- 
mise ;  she  had  asked  to  go  twice  a  week  to 
the  Flats,  spend  an  evening  with  her  sick 
and  sorrowful  sister-in-law,  try  to  get  an 


THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT.       185 

influence  over  her  dreadful  father  and  worse 
brother,  and  to  help  them  in  what  ways 
she  could.  No ;  Mrs.  Copeland  would  have 
none  of  it.  There  should  be  no  running 
back  and  forth  from  the  Flats  to  her  house. 
She  would  have  in  her  home  no  girl  who 
would  have  anything  to  do  with  such  a  dis- 
reputable locality.  She  had  rescued  Kate, 
and  been  glad  to  do  it ;  but  now  if  Kate 
preferred  that  sort  of  society,  she  must 
make  her  choice.  It  was  all  romantic  non- 
sense to  talk  about  "  helping "  or  "  influ- 
encing "  such  as  these.  They  were  beyond 
help ;  and  Kate  was  a  young  girl  who  had 
been  respectably  brought  up,  and  should 
keep  herself  clean  at  all  hazards. 

And  Kate  had  steadily  held  to  her  new 
ideas,  and  had  gone.  Yet  how  glad  she 
would  have  been  to  have  felt  free  from 
responsibility  concerning  them  ! 

More  glad  than  Mrs.  Copeland  could  im- 
agine. The  bare  remembrance  that  she  was 
related  to  such  a  home  as  she  knew  that 
one  to  be,  filled  her  with  loathing.  She 
would  have  been  glad  to  forget  it. 


1 86  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

When  she  first  heard  of  the  home-coming 
of  the  brother  and  his  wife,  there  had  been 
a  gleam  of  hope  that  things  would  be  changed 
for  the  better. 

It  took  but  a  few  weeks  to  determine 
that  they  were  much  worse.  Her  visits  to 
the  house  were  at  first  few  and  far  between, 
and  then  ceased  altogether. 

She  had  bitterly  blamed  her  brother's 
wife.  Why,  being  a  woman,  with  a  hus- 
band to  care  for  her,  had  she  allowed  the 
miserable  home  to  fall  into  even  a  worse 
state  than  she  found  it?  Why  did  she  not 
at  least  sweep  the  room  and  wash  the  floor 
and  make  the  miserable  rags  with  which 
she  had  to  do,  passably  clean  ?  Thus  much 
even  she  had  tried  to  do  during  the  few 
weeks  that  she  had  spent  there  with  her 
father.  She  always  shuddered  when  she 
thought  of  those  weeks.  "But  I,"  she  would 
say  to  herself,  "did  not  have  John  to  help 
me,"  and  it  took  three  different  visits  when 
she  came  in  contact  with  him  at  his  best, 
before  she  learned  to  fully  realize  the  fact 
that  John  Hartzell  was  a  wreck.  She  re- 


THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT.       I 87 

membered  the  handsome  young  man  so 
well ! 

Of  late,  watching  him  often,  as  he  reeled 
by,  and  taking  counsel  of  her  few  weeks 
of  bitter  experience  in  a  drunkard's  home, 
and  with  wide  open  eyes  going  over  the  ex- 
periences of  her  few  visits  there,  since  she 
left  it,  her  heart  had  grown  less  hard  to- 
ward her  sister-in-law. 

She  remembered  that  even  sweeping  could 
not  be  done  without  a  broom,  and  that 
brooms  cost  money. 

Washing  called  for  soap,  or,  failing  in 
that,  certainly  water.  She  remembered  with 
a  pang  how  far  the  water  had  to  be  brought. 
What  if  John  refused  to  bring  it  ? 

There  was  another  point  which  she 
thought  of  later.  How  were  clothes  to  be 
washed,  even  though  soap  and  water  and 
a  vessel  in  which  to  wash  them  were  at 
hand,  if  there  were  none  with  which  to 
cover  the  bodies  while  the  cleansing  was 
going  on  1  Oh,  there  were  problems  con- 
nected with  this  story  of  the  filthy  habits 
of  the  poor  which  had  never  entered 


1 88  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Kate's  mind  before,  and  winch  has  not  ap- 
parently entered  the  minds  of  older  heads 
than  hers.  Kate's  aunt  had  been  poor. 
She  had  made  common  dresses  for  busy 
people,  who  had  no  time  to  make  their 
own,  and  little  money  with  which  to  pay 
others,  and  for  fashionable  people  who  had 
too  many  ways  for  their  money  to  be  will- 
ing to  pay  other  than  the  most  meagre 
prices  for  common  dresses ;  and  economy, 
rigid  and  vigilant,  had  been  necessary  to 
the  widow  and  her  adopted  child.  But 
there  is  poverty  and  poverty,  and  Kate 
Hartzell  had  known  nothing  about  its 
worst  phases  until  she  became  an  inmate  of 
her  father's  house. 

Mrs.  John  Hartzell  looked  up  at  her  en- 
trance ;  a  dull,  hopeless  look ;  there  was  no 
lighting  of  the  heavy  face  at  sight  of  her; 
there  had  been  no  sympathy  between 
these  two.  But  the  very  fact  that  Kate 
had  begun  to  study  how  she  could  help, 
had  opened  her  eyes  to  the  knowledge  that 
there  were  difficulties  great,  and  perhaps  in- 
surmountable, against  doing  anything.  This 


THE  PAST  AND  THE  PRESENT.       189 

awakened    pity    and    sympathy   for   her   sister- 
in-law. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  John  Hartzell,  "  what 
now  ?  " 

The  tone  said  more  than  that ;  it  ques- 
tioned what  this  fine  lady  could  want  here ; 
it  resented  her  having  come  to  spy  out  the 
nakedness  of  the  land. 

"Annie,"  said  Kate,  laying  down  the 
bundle  she  carried  and  going  close  to  her 
sister-in-law,  "I  have  come  home  to  stay, 
and  to  help  save  these  two ;  let  us  take 
hold,  you  and  I,  and  do  it." 

I  can  give  you  no  conception  of  the  force 
in  her  voice ;  intensified,  probably,  by  the 
fact  that  it  was  sunk  to  a  whisper. 

The  wan-faced  woman  looked  at  her  for 
a  moment,  startled  as  one  might  have  been 
over  the  words  of  a  maniac;  wonder  and 
doubt  and  fear  and  a  curious  little  quiver 
of  hope,  trembling  through  the  maze,  and 
then  her  lips,  which  had  long  been  schooled 
to  a  certain  kind  of  self-control,  began  to 
quiver.  Suddenly  she  pressed  both  hands  to 
her  face  and  burst  into  such  a  passion  of 


IQO  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

sobs  as  Kate  had  never  heard  before.  Those 
words  of  hers  were  the  first  sympathetic  and 
at  the  same  time  hopeful  ones  that  the  poor 
woman  had  heard  in  five  years. 

Old  Joe  Hartzell  turned  himself  slowly 
around  in  his  rickety  chair,  gazed  with 
bleared  eyes  on  the  two,  the  broken,  ragged, 
forlorn  woman,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
her  whole  form  convulsed  with  the  excess 
of  her  emotion,  and  the  fair  young  girl  in 
her  neat  dress  and  ^at  and  gloves,  with 
such  a  look  of  pity  and  resolve  on  her  face 
as  might  have  given  even  Old  Joe  a  gleam 
of  hope  had  he  been  sober  enough  to  read 
the  language ;  but  all  he  said  was : 

"  What's  the  row  now  ?  There's  always 
something ;  women  are  all  the  time  making 
an  everlasting  row !  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"WHAT  IS  THE  USE?" 

REFORMS  of  nearly  all  description  are 
apt  to  have  such  small  beginnings 
that  many  people  do  not  recognize  them  as 
reforms  at  all.  Commonplace  beginnings  — 
and  herein  lies  the  difficulty  in  getting  some 
persons  to  work.  They  are  willing  to  do 
grand,  heroic  things,  but  the  bare  and  weary- 
ing commonplaces  of  life  cannot  win  them 
to  enthusiasm,  nor  to  effort. 

In  the  Hartzell  hovel  the  beginning  was 
very  small.  In  fact,  it  had  to  do  with 
housecleaning ! 

"Let  us  make  the  room  over  new,"  said 
Kate  ;  and  the  sister-in-law  looked  first  at 
the  room  and  then  at  the  speaker,  incredu- 
lity and  disgust  on  her  face. 

"  How  ?  "  she  said  ;  and  then,  with  energy  : 
191 


IQ2  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"I  tell  you,  you  can't  do  it,  Kate  Hartzell. 
It  isn't  a  room  that  is  capable  of  being 
put  in  order ;  and,  if  it  were,  there  is 
nothing  to  do  it  with  —  nothing  at  all.  I 
haven't  had  an  ounce  of  soap  in  six  weeks ; 
and  all  the  water  we  have  I  drag  up  from 
Jones'  cistern,  down  at  the  corner,  and  he 
swears  at  me  every  time  I  go.  And  as  for 
rags  to  clean  with,  you  would  think  we 
might  have  enough  of  them,  but  we  haven't. 
Even  rags  are  scarce  in  this  house.  You 
don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  do.  I 
came  down  very  fast  when  I  started  ;  ami 
yet,  after  all,  it  took  me  a  long  while  to 
reach  the  very  bottom,  and  realize  it ;  but 
I  have  done  that  for  three  years.  You 
would  better  take  your  trunk  full  of  pretty 
dresses  and  get  away  to  respectability,  and 
stay  there.  I  shall  not  grudge  it  to  you 
any  more.  I'll  believe  now  that  you  had 
a  heart  to  feel  and  to  try,  if  there  had 
been  any  use." 

It  was  morning.  A  clear,  cold  autumn 
morning.  The  rain  was  over,  and  the  sky 
was  blue  and  the  day  was  bright.  Old  Joe 


"WHAT  is  THE  USE?"  193 

had  slipped  away  before  Kate  opened  her 
eyes  that  morning.  It  was  late  before  she 
closed  them.  She  had  had  bitter  tears  to 
shed,  though  she  tried  to  hide  them  from 
the  desolate  woman  who  lay  beside  her  on 
the  rags.  There  was  a  little  cupboard  sort 
of  room,  opening  from  the  main  one,  and 
there  the  wife  and  sister  had  hidden  them- 
selves, leaving  the  two  drunkards  to  grovel 
outside  together.  Old  Joe,  as  I  said,  had 
slipped  away  breakfastless,  and  John  had 
growled,  and  sworn,  and  kicked  his  .way 
through  the  kitchen,  an  hour  later,  and  told 
Kate  that  she  needn't  come  there  with  her 
airs  —  that  they  wanted  none  of  her  —  and 
staggered  away  breakfastless.  There  had 
been  literally  nothing  in  that  house  to  eat. 
Within  Kate's  pocket  lay  a  little  purse  — 
her  own,  the  relic  of  happy  days,  when  she 
had  change  to  use  at  her  pleasure.  Not 
much,  it  is  true,  and  managed  always  with 
careful  economy.  But  her  very  own.  Within 
it  lay,  at  this  very  moment,  a  treasure  — 
a  silver  dollar.  It  had  a  peculiar  history. 
She  had  gone  out  from  the  home  which  had 


194  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

recently  sheltered  her,  in  coldness  and 
disfavor.  Mrs.  Copeland  had  not  relented ; 
she  had  believed  herself  to  be  an  ill-used 
woman  to  the  last.  She  had  schooled  her- 
self to  believe  that  Kate  had  grown  tired 
of  the  routine  and  the  restraints  of  thor- 
oughly respectable  life,  and  pined  for  the 
freedom  of  the  Flats.  She  had  said  to  Fan- 
nie that  that  was  what  came  of  trying  to 
lift  people  whose  tastes  and  early  associa- 
tions were  low  and  groveling.  She  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  home  of  -wealth  in  which 
Kate's  childhood  had  been  spent.  As  for 
Fannie,  she  echoed  her  mother,  of  course ; 
at  least,  enough  to  be  thoroughly  vexed 
with  Kate ;  though  she  stoutly  held  to  the 
statement  that  she  believed  the  girl  thought 
she  was  doing  her  duty ;  and  constantly  af- 
firmed that  that  unfortunate  picnic  was 
to  blame  for  all  the  trouble.  Feeling  thus, 
it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  they  in  any 
way  lightened  the  burden  of  Kate's  home- 
going.  She  had  received  no  wages  since 
she  had  been  with  Mrs.  Copeland  ;  being 
only  too  glad  to  accept  of  an  offer  which 


"WHAT  is  THE  USE?"  195 

fed  and  clothed  her  in  respectability.  Mrs. 
Copeland  had  certainly  been  very  kind  to 
her ;  had  more  than  paid  regular  wages,  in 
the  wardrobe  she  had  helped  to  furnish. 
But  Kate  had  not  a  cent  of  money.  And 
yet  that  silver  dollar  lay  in  her  little  purse. 
I  am  coming  to  its  story. 

It  was  the  boy  Holly  who  followed  her 
to  the  gate  that  afternoon  when  she  turned 
away  weeping  from  Mrs.  Copeland's  cold  — 

"  I  am  sure,  Kate,  I  wish  you  well,  al- 
though you  have  shown  an  ungrateful  spirit ; 
but  I  must  say  that  I  hardly  expect  to  hear 
well  of  you." 

Then  came  Holly,  regret  on  his  face,  in- 
dignation flashing  from  his  eyes. 

"Never  mind,  Kate/'  he  said,  "mother 
doesn't  understand;  but  1  believe  in  you. 
I  always  shall.  And  I  shall  think  up  ways 
to  help  you,  too.  And,  Kate,  here  is  my 
dollar.  It  is  my  spend-as-you-like  money. 
I  don't  have  to  give  any  account  of  it. 
Father  says  he  expects  that  I  will  spend 
it  foolishly,  but  I  must  learn  by  experience. 
So  you  mustn't  refuse  it,"  for  Kate  had 


196  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

drawn  back,  her  fair  face  flushing  crimson. 
"  I  want  you  to  take  it  as  a  sort  of  pledge 
that  I  am  going  to  help.  Folks  need  money 
to  do  things  with.  I  intend  to  have  a 
good  deal  of  it  when  I  am  a  man.  I  am 
going  to  earn  it,  and  spend  it,  too,  for 
things  of  this  kind.  This  is  just  a  begin- 
ning, and  you  helped  me  to  begin.  Some 
day,  maybe,  you  will  remember  that,  and 
be  real  glad." 

Was  such  logic  as  that  to  be  withstood? 
To  Kate  it  sounded  almost  prophetic,  and 
sent  a  warm  thrill  through  her  heart. 
She  reached  forth  her  hand  and  took  the 
money. 

"It  shall  help,"  she  said;  "and  Holly, 
boy,  I  won't  forget  your  words.  I  will  re- 
member that  I  have  a  friend  -who  is  help- 
ing. Good-by,  Holly!" 

The  boy  looked  after  her,  and  swallowed 
hard,  and  shut  his  teeth,  and  clenched  his 
hands.  He  and  Kate  had  been  warm  friends. 
He  did  not  like  to  see  her  going  out  from 
his  father's  house  in  this  fashion. 

"Mean    old     rum,"   he     said    between    his 


"WHAT    IS    THE    USE?"  197 

shut  teeth.  "  I  hate  it ;  I'll  fight  it,  every- 
where and  always.  When  I'm  a  man  I'll 
fight  it  with  votes  and  money  and  speeches ; 
and  I'll  fight  it  now.  A  boy  can  do  some 
things.  Kate  sha'n't  work  all  alone." 

O,  mother,  with  your  cold  face  and  dis- 
appointed heart,  going  about  your  neat 
kitchen  getting  the  evening  meal,  missing 
the  neut  presence  which  has  given  you  aid 
and  comfort  for  the  months  past ;  sere  over 
the .  sense  of  failure  in  your  one  decided 
effort  at  benevolence,  do  you  really  think 
that  you  have  failed  ?  Look  out  at  your 
boy,  standing  at  the  gate,  watching,  through 
the  rain  and  gathering  mist,  the  retreating 
figure  of  poor  Kate  Hartzell,  who  has  gone 
out  on  her  mission  without  a  kind  word 
from  you.  If  you  could  look  through  the 
mists  of  years,  and  see  what  the  to-mor- 
rows are  to  bring  to  you  and  yours,  would 
you  drop  on  your  knees  now  and  thank 
God  for  letting  you  bring  Kate  Hartzell 
into  your  home,  to  hold  your  boy  for  you, 
and  for  God  and  the  right?  How  do  you 
know  how  far  to-day  will  reach? 


198  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

So  the  dollar  had  furnished  Kate  Hart- 
zell  and  her  sister-in-law  with  a  breakfast; 
a  very  small  portion  of  it,  indeed,  had  done 
that,  Kate  saying  to  herself,  as  she  passed 
the  sliming  sphere  in  exchange  for  bread : 

"It  is  helping ;  for  if  we  are  at  work 
we  must  eat,  and  there  is  work  to  do." 

The  breakfast  eaten,  they  stood  in  that 
dreadful  room  together,  and  the  worn-out 
woman,  bruised,  body  and  soul,  gave  forth 
the  words  which  you  heard  a  few  momenta 
ago,  the  closing  sentence,  "if  there  had 
been  any  use,"  being  the  sad  refrain  of  all 
the  hopes  of  her  broken  heart. 

Kate  drew  a  long  breath,  as  of  one  tak- 
ing in  strength  from  somewhere  for  the 
task  before  her,  and  said : 

"  I  shall  not  go  back,  and  we  will  make 
this  room  over,  and  this  home ;  we  will 
succeed,  Annie.  Let  us  say  that  it  shall 
be.  God  will  help  us,  Annie  Hartzell,  and 
God  never  fails." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  God," 
said  poor  Annie  Hartzell  ;  but  she  did  not 
speak  the  name  irreverently. 


"WHAT  is  THE  USE?"  199 

Kate's  next  word  would  have  seemed  to 
the  many  utterly  foreign  to  the  subject. 

"Annie,"  she  said,  "haven't  you  a 
broom  ?  " 

"A  broom!"  said  Mrs  Hartzell,  scorn  in 
her  tone,  "  no,  I  haven't.  I  had  one,  but 
last  week  your  father  came  in,  worse  than 
usual,  and  he  broke  it  into  bits,  and  burned 
it  up.  There  was  no  need  for  it,  either. 
I  had  a  good  fire  that  night.  I  had  been 
out  half  the  afternoon  picking  up  bits  which 
the  woodyard  wagons  dropped." 

Kate  could  not  help  a  little  shiver  run- 
ning through  her  frame,  but  she  spoke 
briskly : 

"  We   must   have   a   broom,  and   a   fire,  and 

• 

some  hot  water,  and  some  soap ;  I  have 
something  that  will  make  rags.  I  will  go 
down  street,  and  get  the  things.  Annie, 
will  you  set  the  furniture  out,  and  take 
down  the  bedstead,  and  get  things  ready 
while  I  am  gone  ? " 

"  What   do   you   mean    to   do  ? " 

"Clean   house." 

"  What  is   the   use  ?      There   is   nothing   to 


2OO  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

keep  it  clean  with,  and  nothing  to  make  it 
comfortable.  I  tell  you  I  know  it  can't  be 
done.  I  am  older  than  you ;  I  am  a  hun- 
dred years  old  at  the  least,  I  think.  And 
when  we  first  went  down,  before  we  got  BO 
low  as  this,  I  tried  to  keep  things  decent ; 
tried  hard,  and  failed.  Up  to  the  time  that 
John  resolved  to  come  ^ack  to  his  father, 
I  had  a  little  hope;  after  that  I  lost  it 
all.  John's  father  always  influenced  him  to 
the  worst." 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  cruel.  She  did 
not  know  that  Kate's  heart  would  wince  at 
this ;  she  did  not  suppose  that  there  was 
an  atom  of  love  left  in  her  heart  for  the 
lost  father;  and  she  did  not  remember  just 
then  that  her  own  girlish  hand  offered  the 
first  drop  of  liquor  that  John  had  ever 
tasted.  Kate  remembered  it;  her  aunt  had 
told  her,  and  dwelt  on  it  bitterly.  It  had 
made  Kate  feel  hard  toward  her  sister-in- 
law  all  her  life.  It  made  her  face  burn  at 
this  moment,  but  she  held  her  lips  close, 
and  went  on  with  her  preparations  to  go 
down  town. 


"WHAT   IS   THE   USE?"  2OI 

"Nevertheless,  let  us  try  again,"  she  said. 
"  Let  us  begin  by  being  clean ;  we  can 
not  feel  ourselves  to  be  respectable  until 
we  are  as  clean  as  we  can  be.  We  will 
find  ways  to  make  it  more  comfortable.  I 
will  work  and  earn  money.  I  have  a  trade, 
Annie;  I  can  cut  and  make  common  dresses; 
and  uncommon  ones,  too,  I  believe,  if  I 
could  get  a  chance." 

"  Who  will  give  you  a  chance  to  make 
any  sort,  so  long  as  you  live  on  the 
Flats  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Kate  said,  her  lips  quiv- 
ering a  little.  "  Somebody  will ;  I  feel  sure 
of  it.  There  is  a  way  out,  Annie ;  only 
let  us  resolve  to  get  out." 

"  Tell  me  this,  Kate  Hartzell  —  what  put 
this  into  your  mind?  Who  sent  you  here?" 

Kate  was  dressed  now,  even  to  her 
gloves.  She  looked  unlike  anything  that 
was  in  the  habit  of  issuing  from  any  door 
on  the  Flats.  She  had  her  hand  on  the 
door-knob,  but  she  turned  and  looked  full 
into  her  sister-in-law's  eyes,  and  answered 
her  steadily  and  solemnly,  "  God !  " 


2O2  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

Then   she   went   swiftly   away. 

You  do  not  know,  and  you  can  hardly 
be  made  to  understand,  what  a  day  that 
was  to  Kate  Hartzell.  It  may  be  that  you 
are  skilled  in  the  art  of  housecleaning,  yet 
I  venture  to  say  that  you  would  hardly 
know  how  to  have  managed  such  a  form 
of  it  as  this.  Yet  it  was  managed.  By 
six  o'clock  of  that  same  day  you  would 
not  have  known  the  room,  had  you  been 
familiar  with  it  as  it  appeared  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  shelf  in  the  corner  had  been 
cleared  of  the  accumulation  of  years,  and 
scrubbed  clean,  and  covered  with  a  white 
paper.  The  cupboard,  where  the  few  dishes 
were,  had  been  treated  in  the  same  manner. 
Only  the  remaining  half  door  had  been 
taken  off  its  hinges,  and  set  up  as  a 
shelf. 

Kate  handled  the  sheets  of  paper  lov- 
ingly. They  were  left  of  a  roll  which  Holly 
had  bought  her  when  she  helped  him~  in 
some  of  his  pattern  cutting. 

"  There ! "  he  had  said,  with  satisfaction, 
as  the  last  pattern  was  drawn,  "now  what 


"WHAT    IS    THE    USE?"  20$ 

will  I  do  with  all  that  paper?  I  got  fifty 
times  more  paper  than  I  needed,  of  course. 
But  it  was  cheap;  Jerry  gave  it  to  me. 
You  take  it,  Kate.  I  have  no  place  to  put 
it,  and  mother  won't  have  it  lying  round. 
You  will  do  something  nice  with  it  some 
time,  I  dare  say;  you  always  do  with  bits 
of  things." 

So  Kate  had  laughingly  taken  her  gift 
and  laid  it  away,  and  now  she  was  spread- 
ing it  on  the  shelves  of  the  corner  cup- 
board !  Holly  was  helping ;  it  gave  her  a 
warm  feeling  in  her  sad  heart  to  think  of 
it.  The  floor  had  been  scrubbed,  and  the 
table,  and  even  the  rickety  chairs.  The 
bedclothes  had  been  washed,  every  rag  of 
them,  and  had  been  blowing  in  the  wind 
and  sunshine  all  the  afternoon,  to  the  great 
astonishment  of  the  dwellers  on  the  Flats. 
The  bed  was  made  up  neatly  now,  and  its 
nakedness  covered  with  a  blue  and  white 
patchwork  quilt,  which  had  been  the 
work  of  Kate's  early  girlhood,  and  had 
been  lying  in  the  depths  of  her  trunk  wait- 
ing for  this  hour.  The  stove  had  been 


204  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

blackened  until  it  shone,  and,  altogether, 
what  with  the  white  curtain  at  the  window 
and  the  white  cloth  on  the  table,  both  made 
from  a  roll  in  Kate's  trunk,  Mrs.  Hartzell, 
who  was  arrayed  in  a  fresh  brown  calico  of 
Kate's,  and  who  sat  by  the  table  gazing 
around  upon  it  all,  'confessed  to  herself  that 
it  made  a  wonderful  difference.  But  her  face 
was  still  in  shadow. 

"What  will  it  all  amount  to,  Kate? 
Haven't  you  tried  something  of  the  kind 
before  ?  I  have.  One  day  I  cleaned  every- 
thing up ;  that  was  two  years  ago,  and 
there  were  more  things  to  clean,  though  I 
thought  then  that  everything  was  as  bad 
as  it  could  be.  But  I  made  it  all  nice,  and 
then  I  set  the  table  as  nicely  as  I  could, 
and  baked  some  potatoes  and  fried  a  little 
sausage  that  a  neighbor  had  sent  me.  He 
promised  me  in  the  morning  when  he  went 
out  that  he  would  try  again,  and  I  meant 
to  help  him  all  I  could  ;  and  when  he  came 
he  could  just  stagger  into  the  room,  and 
lay  himself,  boots  and  all,  just  as  you  saw 
him  last  night,  on  my  clean  bed ;  and  if  I 


"WHAT  is  THE  USE?"  205 

touched  him,  he  growled  and  swore  at  me. 
The  potatoes  burned  up,  and  the  sausage 
shrivelled  away  to  grease ;  I  never  ate  a 
bite  that  night.  The  next  morning  he  was 
off,  and  took  with  him  the  bag  of  potatoes 
that  I  had  earned  the  day  before  washing 
windows  for  a  woman  I  That  is  the  last  time 
I  ever  tried.  I  knew  it  would  be  of  no 
use,  and  I  know  it  now." 

Kate  came  and  stood  •  by  her  sister's 
chair. 

"  I  never  tried  much,"  she  said,  humbly ; 
'*  when  I  first  came  home  it  was  all  so  dif- 
ferent from  anything  I  had  ever  known, 
that  it  was  awful.  Father  would  stay 
away  all  night,  and  I  was  afraid  ;  afraid 
for  my  life.  There  were  so  many  dreadful 
noises,  and  such  mean-looking  men  hanging 
around ;  father  was  never  cross  to  me, 
but  he  drank  all  the  time.  I  tried  to  get 
meals  ready  for  him,  and  he  never  came  to 
them ;  not  once,  to  sit  down  to  the  table 
for  the  weeks  that  I  was  here.  And  then 
Mrs.  Copeland  saw  me  and  gave  me  that 
chance,  and  I  rejoiced  over  it.  I  thought 


2O6  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

I  should  never  come  back  where  father  was 
again ;  at  least,  until  I  grew  to  be  a  mid- 
dle-aged woman.  But  I  think  it  was  all 
wrong.  Or  I  mean,  when  you  came,  }-ou 
and  John,  I  think  I  ought  to  have  come 
right  home,  because  two  women  can  do  what 
one  alone  can  not.  And  }-ou  are  a  married 
woman,  Annie,  and  that  protects  me." 

A  wan,  incredulous  smile  flickered  for 
a  moment  in  fche  elder  woman's  face, 
which  yet  was  almost  a  child's  face.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  her  that  she  could 
protect  anybody.  Yet,  along  with  the  al- 
most derisive  smile,  there  came  a  sudden 
resolve  to  stand  by  this  young  thing,  and 
help  her  in  her  hopeless  undertaking  ;  all  at 
least  that  she,  a  weak,  discouraged  woman, 
could. 

But  her  words  were  not  encouraging: 
"  They'll  pawn  your  clothes,  Kate ;  your 
trunk  is  not  safe  here  for  a  night.  I  wish 
they  had  not  sent  it  to  you.  You  might 
have  kept  your  things  there  and  gone  after 
something  once  in  awhile.  He'll  take  that 
bedspread  the  first  thing,  and  that  cur- 


"WHAT  is- THE  USE?"  -  207 

tain,  it  will  hang  in  Jim  Moxen's  bar-room 
before  to-morrow  night.  Oh  I  I  know  all 
about  it ;  you  may  try  and  try,  and  that  is 
all  the  good  it  will  do.  He  sold  our  little 
baby's  shoes,  Kate,  the  only  shoes  she  ever 
wore ;  with  the  print  of  her  feet  in  them ; 
while  she  lay  in  the  coffin,  he  sold  them  — 
for  rum !  And,  Kate,  I  watched  the  coffin 
all  day  and  all  night.  I  never  stepped 
from  its  side  for  a  moment.  I  was  afraid 
he  would  try  to  sell  it  for  rum!" 

Her  eyes  were  dry  and  burning,  and  her 
voice  was  steady  as  the  voice  of  one  who 
has  thought  over  a  bitter  record  until  it  has 
lost  its  power  to  outwardly  move  the  vic- 
tim any  more,  but  is  nevertheless  burning 
at  her  heart. 

Kate  stroked  the  faded,  yellow  hair  ten- 
derly. 

"  Poor  Annie,"  she  said,  her  voice  low 
and  pitiful ;  and  she  took  this  desolate, 
sinned  against  woman  from  that  moment 
into  her  stronger  heart,  and  resolved  to 
live  at  least  for  her.  But  the  words  she 
spoke,  atfer  a  moment,  were  very  strong 


2O8  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

and  brave:     "Annie,   we  will  save  him  yet." 
And   then    there   was   a  step  outside,  which 
they    knew,   and    both   women    rose   up    and 
waited,  their  faces  pale,  their  nerves  quiver 
ing. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

SILKEN  COILS. 

IT  was  John  Hartzell,  and  a  curious  thing 
had  happened  to  him.  He  was  sober. 
He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  them, 
then  glanced  quickly  about  the  room.  How 
much  of  its  changes  he  took  in  they  did 
not  know,  but  he  only  said : 

"Got   anything   to    eat?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate,  for  she  knew  that  her 
sister  could  not  speak.  "We  have  some- 
thing nice  to  eat ;  and  we  were  afraid  it 
would  spoil  before  you  came." 

Her  voice  was  pleasant  to  hear,  and  she 
made  haste  to  set  before  him  a  potato  stew, 
whose  appetizing  odor  filled  the  room.  Ten 
cents  from  that  wonderful  dollar  of  Holly's 
had  bought  a  soup  bone,  which  had  been 
skilfully  simmering  for  half  the  afternoon, 
209 


2IO  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

with  sliced  potatoes,  and  certain  other  in- 
gredients, which  for  a  few  cents  had  been 
gathered.  The  food  was  speedily  dished, 
and  they  sat  down  together,  those  three,  to 
their  evening  meal.  The  atmosphere  was 
so  new  as  to  be  intensely  embarrassing. 
John  Hartzell  had  not  been  as  sober  in 
weeks  as  he  was  to-night ;  and  he  had  not 
sat  down  to  a  really  decent  meal,  at  a  de- 
cently clean  table  before,  in  his  own  house, 
in  years !  Yet  you  will  remember  that  he 
had  been  used  in  his  boyhood,  to  the  best. 
And  the  sister  who  sat  near  him  now  had 
sat  opposite  him  then — a  sweet,  childish 
face  which  he  distinctly  remembered.  And 
the  woman  who  sat  opposite  him  now,  had, 
on  the  rare  occasions  whien  she  made  one 
of  their  family  group,  in  her  delicate  laces 
and  ribbons,  set  all  his  pulses  to  quivering 
with  hints  of  a  rose-colored  future,  when 
to  sit  opposite  each  other  at  a  family  table 
would  be  their  right.  Here  they  sat  to- 
night, and  between  them  and  that  sunny 
past  stretched  an  almost  infinite  gulf  ! 

Now,     as     to     the     influences     which     had 


SILKEN    COILS.  211 

been  brought  to  bear  upon  him  to  send 
him  home  in  a  comparatively  sober  state. 
Had  those  two  known  the  story,  one  of 
them,  at  least,  would  have  received  an 
added  proof  to  her  belief  that  God  reigns. 
When  John  Hartzell  stumbled  away  from 
his  home  in  the  early  morning,  the  upper- 
most desire  of  his  heart  had  been  brandy. 
But  John  Hartzell's  credit  was  gone.  He 
must,  then,  in  some  way,  earn  a  little  mon- 
ey before  he  could  hope  to  quench  his 
thirst.  He  had  been  too  much  under  the 
influence  of  liquor  the  night  before  to  know 
that  his  sister  had  come  home  to  remain, 
and  was  not  therefore  aware  that  there  was 
any  clothing  in  the  house  which  might  be 
sold.  There  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  find 
some  work. 

But  what  could  the  college-bred  man, 
who  had  no  trade,  and  had  fallen  before 
he  had  a  profession,  find  to  do  ?  Saw 
wood  ?  Oh,  yes ;  and  split  it,  and  pile  it, 
and  carry  water.  These  and  like  lucrative 
employments  were  all  the  avenues  open  to 
such  as  he.  He  had  for  a  few  days  been 


212  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

employed  in  one  of  the  cellar  rumholes,  to 
measure  out  liquid  death  to  other  victims ; 
but  the  temptation  to  drink  it  made  him  an 
unprofitable  clerk,  and  there  came  a  day 
when  he  was  unceremoniously  kicked  out. 
Now  when  one  falls  so  low  that  he  has 
not  mental  or  moral  worth  enough  to  sell 
rum,  what  can  he  do? 

John  Hartzell  stumbled  on  through  the 
town,  hunting  his  morning  drink,  and  came 
at  last  past  the  neat  home  where  the  Cope- 
lands  lived.  At  the  gate,  waiting  for  a 
slow-moving  schoolboy  to  join  him,  stood  Holly. 
He  knew  John  Hartzell  instantly.  Trust  a 
fourteen-year-old  boy  for  knowing  by  sight 
all  the  people  in  the  town.  The  minister 
may  not  know  them,  nor  the  busy  citizens 
with  their  eyes  fixed  on  business,  but  the 
schoolboys  will.  This  wreck  of  a  man  was 
Kate  Hartzell's  brother  —  the  one  she  had 
gone  to  save.  He  was  pledged  to  help. 
How  should  he  do  it?  How  hungry  the 
man  looked !  Holly  had  just  risen  from  a 
good  breakfast ;  his  instincts  were  true ;  what 
was  the  way  to  help  a  hungry  man  ? 


SILKEN  COILS. 


"  Halloo  !  "  he  said,  "  have  you  had  your 
breakfast?" 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  the  reply  was  growled 
out;  but  John  Hartzell  paused  wonderingly. 
The  question  was  strange  to  him.  Holly 
thought  rapidly  ;  his  mother  did  not  approve 
of  tramps  ;  she  did  not  at  this  time  approve 
of  anybody  by  the  name  of  Hartzell  ;  but  it 
was  not  ten  minutes  ago  that  she  had 
said  in  a  discontented  tone  to  the  busy 
doctor: 

"I  do  wish  that  we  could  get  that  rub- 
bish cleared  away  from  the  back  shed  to-day. 
Why,  no;  Holly  can't  do  it  very  well.  He 
has  no  clothes  suitable  for  such  a  job  as 
that." 

And  the  doctor  had  replied,  taking  hur- 
ried swallows  of  hot  coffee  between  the  sen- 
tences : 

"Watch  for  some  fellow  to  come  along, 
my  dear,  and  set  him  at  work.  I  wish  I 
had  time  to  attend  to  it  ;  but  I  must  be  off 
for  a  ten-miles  ride  ;  that  Davis  boy  is  down 
again,  worse  than  ever,  I  hear." 

Now,   John  Hartzell's   clothes  were   not  in 


214  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

a  condition  to  be  injured  by  the  rubbish 
in  the  back  shed. 

"See  here,"  Holly  said,  "if  you  will 
come  in  and  cart  that  pile  of  all  sorts  of 
things  down  to  the  heap  below  here,  that 
they  are  getting  ready  to  burn,  my  mother 
will  give  you  a  good  breakfast  —  hot  buck- 
wheat cakes,  and  coffee,  you  know.  Will 
you  do  it?" 

The  words  had  an  appetizing  sound,  al- 
though John  Hartzell  muttered  that  he'd 
rather  have  the  money.  But  he  was  hun- 
gry as  well  as  thirsty ;  so  he  shambled  in 
without  more  ado,  and  did  the  work ;  and 
Holly  ran  with  breathless  haste  to  tell  his 
mother  that  he  had  engaged  a  man,  and 
promised  him  buckwheat  cakes  and  coffee. 
It  was  true  she  told  him  he  was  a  foolish 
boy ;  that  bread  and  butter  and  a  bone  to 
pick  were  good  enough  for  such  workmen  ; 
but  she  baked  the  cakes,  and  sugared  the 
coffee.  And  Holly  hovered  near,  and  made 
one  single  remark  to  the  man  as  he  was 
eagerly  swallowing  his  third  cup  of  steam- 
ing coffee : 


SILKEN   COILS.  215 

"Wasn't  it  nice  when  you  had  such 
breakfasts  as  this  every  morning  ? " 

A  thrust  made  squarely  at  John  Hart- 
zell's  past  I  What  did  Holly  Copeland 
know  about  it?  Why,  Fannie  had  told 
bits  of  the  picnic  talk,  and  he  had  ques- 
tioned and  cross-questioned  until  he  learned 
the  fact  that  the  Hartzells  were  not  once 
what  they  were  now ;  and  his  mother  had 
said  that  accounted  for  Kate's  refined  ways; 
it  was  strange  that  people  would  allow 
themselves  to  become  beasts  through  love 
of  drink.  Not  another  word  said  Holly; 
and  he  dashed  off  at  last  to  school,  feel- 
ing sorrowful  that  he  could  not  have 
thought  of  some  way  to  help  Kate ;  but  the 
word  that  he  dropped  rankled  in  John 
Hartzell's  mind  all  the  morning.  There 
had  been  nothing  in  years  to  recall  to  him 
his  past. 

He  went  out  from  the  warm  room,  rested 
and  refreshed  by  the  hot  coffee  and  the 
buckwheat  cakes.  The  burning  thirst 
which  had  tormented  him  all  the  morning 
was  a  trifle  less  intense.  Still  with  money 


2l6  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

in  his  pocket  he  would  have  known  just 
how  to  spend  it.  How  should  he  earn 
some? 

Humanly  speaking,  it  was  strange  that 
Miss  Wainwright  should  be  the  next  to  ac- 
cost him.  He  had  reached  the  main  busi- 
ness street  by  this  time ;  and  she  was 
making  haste  down  the  busy  side  of  it,  a 
basket  on  her  arm.  She  gave  searching 
looks  at  the  man  shambling  along  with  ir- 
resolution, and  a  vague  feeling  of  regret 
written  on  every  lineament  of  his  face. 
Then  she  addressed  him  in  quick,  business- 
like tones : 

"  Are  you   looking  for    work  ?  " 

"Ye-yes'm,"  said  John  Hartzell,  hesitat- 
ing at  first;  he  had  forgotton  that  such 
was  his  errand. 

"  Then  I  am  looking  for  you,"  she  said 
promptly,  "my  man  is  suddenly  called  away, 
and  there  are  apples  to  gather,  and  sev- 
eral other  things  before  any  harder  frost 
comes.  If  you  will  take  this  basket  and 
come  right  along  with  me,  I  will  set  you 
to  work  in  less  than  no  time." 


SILKEN    COILS.  2 1/ 

"  What  do  you  pay  ? "  John  asked,  talcing 
the  offered  basket,  and  feeling  himself 
moved  in  her  direction  by  the  very  force 
of  her  energy. 

"  Good .  wages  if  the  workman  suits  me. 
Better  wages  than  you  have  been  getting 
lately." 

The  marks  of  sin  were  so  apparent  on 
him  that  she  could  not  resist  this  thrust. 
Miss  Wainwright  knew  he  was  a  drunk- 
ard; and  while  she  .was  an  earnest  and 
uncompromising  temperance  woman,  she  had 
hitherto  shunned  drunkards  as  she  would 
the  plague.  She  had  been  heard  to  declare 
that  no  man  who  made  a  brandy  flask  of 
himself  should  work  for  her;  but  in  the 
light  of  some  new  ideas,  which  the  day  of 
the  memorable  picnic  had  given  her,  she 
had  determined  to  hire  the  first  drunkard 
she  met,  and  try  to  set  him  at  work  at 
something.  What  if  that  should  be  the 
first  step  toward  reaching  him?  As  they 
tramped  along  toward  her  handsome  home, 
Miss  Wainwright  asked  several  pointed 
questions,  not  in  the  line  of  rebuke,  unless 


2l8  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

the  man's  conscience  was  very  wide  awake. 
Miss  Wainwright  was  wise  in  many  things; 
she  was  very  well  aware  that  she  must 
kidnap  her  man,  before  even  wholesome  re- 
proof would  be  of  any  avail.  But  among 
others  came  the  question: 

"What    shall    I   call   you?" 

"  My  name  is  Hartzell,"  he  said,  "  John 
Hartzell." 

And  then  for  almost  a  block  Miss  Wain- 
wright did  not  speak.  The  name  startled 
her  so.  This,  then,  was  the  "  Brother 
John "  who  had  been  the  college  acquaint- 
ance of  Mr.  Durant,  the  temperance  lec- 
turer, and  who  was  the  brother  of  that 
neat  little  Kate,  whom  she  had  resolved  to 
befriend,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  to 
show  Josie  Fleming  what  a  goose  she  was. 
What  a  strange  thing  that  the  first  intem- 
perate man  she  ever  attempted  to  help 
should  be  this  one,  in  whom  she  had  felt 
an  unaccountable  interest  ever  since  she 
heard  his  name,  and  for  whom  she  had 
prayed,  by  name,  ever  since !  What  was 
she  to  do  for  him  to-day?  Had  God  a 


SILKEN   COILS. 


special  message  to  him  from  her  ?  She  must 
guard  her  words  carefully,  lest  other  than 
those  which  he  meant  her  to  speak  should 
drop  out  unawares  and  do  harm. 

They  were  at  the  great  gate  now,  and 
she  pointed  out  his  work  with  few  words, 
then  went  in  to  watch  and  think. 

It  was  long  since  John  Hartzell  had 
passed  such  a  morning.  Not  that  he  had 
not  many  a  time  made  spasmodic  efforts  to 
find  employment,  but  his  rags  and  his  breath 
and  his  entire  forlorn  appearance  had  been 
always  against  him.  Miss  Wainwright  herself 
may  have  passed  him  a  dozen  times  with 
nothing  but  a  shudder  of  disgust. 

He  worked  steadily  for  an  hour  or  more, 
then  the  terrible  faintness  began  to  over- 
whelm him.  Could  he  slip  away,  he  won- 
dered, unobserved  ?  But  then,  he  had  no 
money,  and  where  would  he  get  anything 
to  drink  ?  The  last  time  he  had  offered  to 
clean  the  alley  for  old  Jock  for  a  glass  of 
brandy,  that  worthy  had  kicked  him  out 
of  the  back  door  for  an  answer.  What  was 
the  use?  Yet  what  should  he  do? 


22O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"Miss  Wainwright  says  drink  this;  she 
says  gathering  apples  is  powerful  thirsty 
work." 

It  was  Keziah's  voice  right  at  his  elbow, 
and  it  was  coffee  she  held  up  to  him.  A 
great  steaming  bowl  full,  black  with  strength. 
Miss  Wainwright,  watching  hiin  from  her 
window,  saw  the  feverish  haste  with  which 
he  drained  the  bowl.  She  had  been  just  in 
time.  Do  you  wonder  that  she  chanced  to 
be  in  time?  I'll  tell  you  part  of  the  secret: 
A  dozen  times  during  that  hour,  while  she 
went  about  her  room  dusting,  arranging, 
planning,  she  had  said : 

"O  Lord,  show  me  how  to  get  hold  of 
him !  Let  me  help  save  him." 

All  the  forenoon  the  fight  went  on. 
Twice  Miss  Wainwright  herself  appeared 
and  gathered  her  big  white  apron  full  of 
apples  while  she  talked.  Careful  talk.  How 
long  had  he  lived  in  the  place  ?  Where 
did  he  come  from  ?  Oh,  indeed  I  Utica  was 
a  very  pretty  place ;  she  used  to  visit  there 
years  ago.  Did  he  ever  take  a  ride  on 
Genesee  Street?  Yes,  he  had.  He  spoke 


SILKEN   COILS.  221 

the  words  with  a  short,  sharp  sound;  and 
Miss  Wainwright,  listening,  thanked  God 
and  took  courage.  She  did  not  know,  it  is 
true,  what  memories  she  was  stirring  by 
her  random  questions,  if  questions  can  be 
random,  after  one  has  coined  them  in  prayer. 
She  did  not  know  that  he  had  dashed 
through  Genesee  Street  behind  his  owu  gay 
pony,  with  Annie  by  his  side;  the  pretty 
girl  in  rose-colored  ribbons,  who  chose  him 
in  preference  to  a  dozen  others  who  would 
have  been  glad  to  take  her  to  ride.  That 
was  before  his  father  failed.  But  Annie  had 
not  cared  about  the  failure.  She  had  laid 
her  two  soft,  small  hands  on  his  arm,  and 
looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  her  own  bright 
ones,  and  told  him  that  she  did  not  mind 
being  poor  with  him  to  take  care  of  her. 
That  was  once  when  they  were  walking  on 
Genesee  Street,  away  out  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  city  where  it  is  quiet.  Miss  Waiu- 
wright  knew  nothing  of  this ;  but  God  did. 
What  was  the  matter  with  everybody  this 
day,  that  they  continually  brought  before 
John  Hartzell  the  face  of  his  past,  in 


222  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

which  he  had  supposed  himself  to  be  a 
man? 

By  and  by  he  was  called  in  to  the  shin- 
ing kitchen.  Dinner  was  ready.  John  Hart- 
zell  had  not  been  seated  at  such  a  table  for 
a  long  time.  Miss  Wainwright  was  experi- 
menting. Her  faithful  Keziah,  who  always 
unquestioningly  did  her  bidding,  had,  for  all 
that,  her  own  thoughts ;  and  she  thought 
her  mistress  was  losing  her  mind ! 

"Set  out  the  little  table,  Keziah,  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  put  up  the  leaves, 
and  put  on  one  of  the  small,  square  table- 
cloths. Bring  a  china  soup  plate,  and  one 
of  the  .large  silver  spoons.  No,  no;  not 
those  knives,  Keziah,  bring  silver  ones,  and 
one  of  the  large  napkins.  Keziah,  I  want 
you  to  set  the  table  exactly  as  you  would 
if  Doctor  Brandon  were  going  to  be  here 
to  dinner." 

And  Keziah  obeyed,  though  much  inclined 
to  sniff.  It  was  at  this  table  that  John 
Hartzell  presently  sat  down.  Quite  alone. 
Keziah  had  orders  to  serve  the  soup,  and 
then  to  vanish,  until  he  was  ready  for  his 


SILKEN    COILS.  223 

next  course.  What  soup  it  was!  Rich  with 
the  juices  of  meats  and  appetizing  vege- 
tables. And  the  spoon  was  solid  silver. 
Yes,  Miss  Wainwright  was  right.  John 
Hartzell,  the  gay  young  student,  had  sat 
often  at  a  table  as  fine  in  all  its  appoint- 
ments as  this.  The  very  odor  of  rose  leaves 
about  the  damask  napkin  brought  a  mem- 
ory of  his  mother  not  only  but  of  the  time 
when  Annie  used  to  come  to  their  house 
to  tea ;  but  this  again  Miss  Wainwright  did 
not  know. 

It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  the 
story  of  all  devices  of  that  day.  Miss 
Wainwright  was  not  for  a  moment  unfaith- 
ful to  what  she  was  beginning  to  believe 
was  in  some  way  her  trust.  There  were 
callers  during  the  afternoon,  but  the  mis- 
tress took  a  seat  at  the  end  window,  which 
commanded  a  view  of  the  orchard,  and  once 
excused  herself  abruptly  while  she  went  to 
speak  to  her  man.  She  had  seen  him  throw 
down  the  empty  basket  and  seize  his  ragged 
coat  in  a  desperate  air. 

The    cullers  smiled   and  said    to  each  other 


224  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

that  she  always  had  an  eye  to  business 
whatever  was  going  on.  Yes,  she  had ;  did 
not  her  Master  say :  "  I  must  be  about  my 
Father's  business?  " 

Over  the  question  of  how  John  Hartzell 
was  to  be  paid,  Miss  Wainwright  thought 
and  prayed  much.  Money  would  certainly 
be  dangerous;  and  would  not  meat  and 
vegetables  be  equally  so?  She  had  not  been 
studying  the  question  of  reform  all  these 
years  not  to  know  that  potatoes  and  poul- 
try and  butter  were  easily  exchanged  for 
rum.  How  should  the  food  that  she  meant 
to  serve  John  Hartzell's  family  for  days  be 
gotten  safely  through  the  snares  of  Satan 
in  the  shape  of  saloon  and  restaurant  which 
lined  his  homeward  way? 

At  last  there  came  to  her  a  bright 
thought.  She  went  out  at  once  to  the 
orchard  to  see  if  her  mode  of  reasoning 
could  be  brought  to  bear  on  John  Hartzell. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

"  LABORERS   TOGETHER." 

DID     you    go     to     housekeeping   as   soon 
as  you   were   married,    John?" 

Yes,  he  had.  John  remembered  the  little, 
house  on  Whitesboro  Street.  It  had  been  a 
wonderful  descent  from  the  large  and  hand- 
some one  on  Genesee  Street.  But  it  was 
cosily  furnished  and  Annie  was  its  mistress, 
and  he  had  been  proud  of  it;  and  had 
meant  to  reform  all  his  wild  ways  and  to 
make  her  happy  in  it.  None  of  this  did 
he  say  to  Miss  Wainwright ;  he  merely  an- 
swered her  briefly,  even  gruffly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  know  the  street  well. 
And  I  dare  say  you  traded  at  Parker's, 
and  were  as  proud  as  anything  when  the 
delivery  wagon  brought  home  your  first 
stock  of  groceries  and  vegetables." 
225 


226  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Yes,  John  remembered  that.  Was  there 
nothing  connected  with  his  past  that  was  not 
to  be  photographed  for  him  that  day  ? 

"  Well,  now,  John,  I  wonder  if  you 
wouldn't  like  to  play  up  old  times?  You 
have  worked  faithfully  to-day,  and  I  was 
thinking  of  paying  you  in  vegetables  and 
poultry  and  milk  and  eggs  and  butter.  I 
have  hosts  of  those  things,  you  know,  and 
I  like  to  exchange  them  for  labor ;  but  it 
would  be  too  much  for  you  to  think  of 
carrying.  I  see  my  man  who  takes  care  of 
the  horses  has  just  got  around,  and,  if  you 
like,  I  will  have  him  harness  and  deliver 
the  goods  at  your  door,  just  as  it  used  to 
be  done,  and  that  will  give  your  wife  a 
happy  surprise.  Come,  now,  John  Hartzell, 
am  I  mistaken  in  you,  do  you  suppose? 
Don't  your  want  to  be  a  man  again  ?  You 
have  been  nothing  but  a  street  loafer  for  so 
long,  that  I  thought  maybe  you  had  for- 
gotten you  were  ever  anything  else ;  but  I. 
have  seen  several  times  to-day  that  you 
haven't.  Make  a  big  effort  now,  and  come 
back  to  manhood." 


"LABORERS  TOGETHER.  22/ 

John  Hartzell  returned  Miss  Wainwright's 
steady  gaze  and  spoke  gravely: 

"  You  think,  maybe,  that  I  haven't  tried. 
I  can  tell  you  that  I  have  made  fifty  thou- 
sand promises,  and  broken  them  all.  I  can 
not  let  the  stuff  alone  which  has  been  my 
ruin.  The  taste  for  it  was  born  with  me." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Miss  Wainwright, 
promptly,  "and  the  love  of  sin,  in  some 
form,  was  born  with  me;  what  you  and  I 
have  to  do  is  to  assert  our  rights  and  say 
that  we  will  not  be  slaves  to  sin.  Come,  I 
don't  want  to  argue  with  you  ;  you  don't 
need  it.  You  are  smart  enough  to  think 
of  a  hundred  things  that  I  might  say. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  now  is  to  start 
again.  Make  that  wife  of  yours  happy  to- 
night. I  don't  suppose  you  have  really  done 
anything  to  make  her  happy  in  a  long 
time ;  and  yet  I  dare  say  you  meant  to  be 
all  the  world  to  her  when  you  promised 
you  would." 

She  did  not  say  much  more.  It  did  not 
seem  to  her  wise  to  talk.  She  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  there  was  some  way  to 


228  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

shield  John  Hartzell  from  his  enemy  on  his 
homeward  way.  If  it  would  only  do  for 
her  to  walk  down  town  with  him,  she 
would  be  more  than  willing.  He  had 
agreed  to  the  being  paid  in  farm  produce, 
and  she  had  seen  a  flash  of  something  like 
what,  if  she  had  known  it,  was  the  old 
fire  in  his  eyes,  when  he  heard  her  direc- 
tion to  the  man: 

"Peter,  you  are  to  harness  Doll  to  the 
market-wagon  and  deliver  whatever  is  in  it 
to  the  third  house  from  the  corner  on  Var- 
ley  Street ;  Hartzell,  is  the  name.  You  are 
to  tell  whoever  comes  to  the  door  that  Mr. 
John  Hartzell  ordered  them  brought  there. 
Do  you  understand?" 

Why,  yes,  Peter  understood ;  but  his  eyes 
were  as  wide  open  as  Keziah's,  and  he 
took  off  his  hat  and  ran  all  his  fingers 
through  his  hair  in  astonishment.  And  here 
Miss  Wainwright  felt  that  her  power  must 
end.  She  could  see  no  way  to  safely  shield 
the  poor  tempted  man  during  his  homeward 
walk.  Whether  he  would  reach  home  a 
sober  man  or  a  beast,  she  had  no  means 


"LABORERS  TOGETHER.  229 

of  knowing.  She  could  think  of  no  ex- 
cuse for  being  his  companion  that  would 
not  be  too  apparent  to  cover  her  design. 
She  must  ask  the  Lord  to  go  with  him  and 
be  his  shield.  And  yet  none  knew  better 
than  she  that  John  Hartzell  could  limit 
the  power  even  of  the  Lord,  if  he  chose 
not  to  be  shielded. 

To  show  you  the  ways  which  the  Mas- 
ter has  of  supplementing  the  work  of  his 
servants,  I  must  let  you  hear  a  bit  of  con- 
versation which  was  being  held  in  the 
post-office  that  same  afternoon.  One  of  the 
distributing  clerks,  who  was  leisurely  find- 
ing their  proper  niches  for  the  last  package 
of  letters,  paused  wonderingly  over  one  ad- 
dress, then  burst  into  laughter : 

"  Look  here,  McLean,"  he  shouted  to  that 
young  man,  who  was  making  out  a  money 
order,  '-'here  is  a  letter  addressed  to  John 
Hartzell,  Esq.  Do  you  know  any  such  in- 
dividual? That  old  fellow  who  reels 
around  the  streets  and  does  nothing  but 
drink,  is  the  only  John  Hartzell  in  town 
or  in  the  county,  so  far  as  I  know.  Do 


23O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

you  suppose  he  would  recognize  himself  if 
he  should  see  his  name  written  in  this 
fashion?" 

Young  McLean  hurriedly  made  the  last 
flourish  to  the  paper,  delivered  it  to  the 
waiting  messenger,  then  came  out  from  his 
corner  to  see  the  curiosity. 

"John  Hartzell,  Esq."  No  mistaking  the 
name,  for  the  writing  was  plain,  as  well  as 
elegant.  A  man's  hand,  but  the  hand  of  one 
accustomed  to  much  writing.  No  sharp  cor- 
ners to  the  curves,  and  the  flourish  which 
wound  all  about  the  capital  H  was  deemed 
worthy  of  study  by  the  clerk  who  prided 
himself  on  his  fine  writing. 

"  Poor  wretch ! "  the  younger  man  said, 
as  he  turned  to  place  it  in  the  II  niche, 
"I  am  afraid  that  will  lie  among  the  'un- 
called forV  until  the  mice  claim  it  as  their 
special  property.  The  fellow  never  comes  to 
the  office.  I  don't  suppose  he  ever  re- 
ceived a  letter  in  his  life." 

Hadn't  he !  Delicate,  cream-laid  paper,  en- 
velopes in  the  latest  style  and  tint,  perfumed 
with  the  choicest  lavender! 


"LABORERS    TOGETHER."  23! 

If  these  young  men  had  but  known  some- 
what of  that  other  man's  past,  it  might  have 
made  them  more  pitiful.  It  is  never  safe  to 
judge  of  any  man,  by  his  condition  after 
alcohol  has  made  him  its  slave.  But  Lloyd 
McLean  was  thinking.  That  pretty  Kate 
Hartzell  and  the  talk  which  was  had  after 
she  came  up  the  cliff;  there  was  something 
about  a  brother,  and  his  name  was  John. 
He  was  silent,  recalling  bit  by  bit  the  words 
of  Kate  and  of  Mr.  Durant,  and  then  of 
Josie  Fleming  and  his  own  disgust  over  her 
rudeness.  He  held  out  his  hand  for  the  let- 
ter and  asked  a  question : 

"  Who  is  this  John  Hartzell  ?  Where  did 
he  come  from  ?  I  never  heard  of  him  until 
the  other  day." 

"  Why,  he  is  old  Joe's  son.  You  have 
seen  old  Joe  stagger  by?  Well,  John  is  a 
chip  of  the  old  block,  only  more  BO.  He 
will  be  a  worse  drunkard  than  his  father  if 
he  lives  long  enough.  They  came  from  some- 
where in  New  York ;  followed  the  father, 
you  know,  though  what  there  is  about  him 
to  follow,  would  be  difficult  to  tell.  John 


232  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

has  only  been  here  two  or  three  months,  and 
his  sole  occupation  is  to  drink,  so  far  as  I 
can  learn.  I  wish  New  York  could  be  made 
to  support  its  own  paupers  after  it  has 
made  them." 

"  Let  me  have  the  letter,"  said  Lloyd.  "  I 
will  try  and  get  it  to  the  man." 

"Pooh!  "said  the  other,  "what's  the- use?" 

Nevertheless,  he  relinquished  the  letter,  of 
course,  for  Lloyd  was  his  superior  in  office. 
So  it  happened  that,  two  hours  later,  Lloyd 
McLean  stood  on  the  steps  of  McAllister's 
store,  waiting  for  Eben  Bruce,  when  he 
heard  one  man  say  to  another : 

"  What's  going  to  happen  ?  There  goes  old 
Hartzell's  son,  sober.  I  have  hardly  seen 
that  since  he  has  been  here." 

"  He  won't  get  past  Minnow's  sober,"  said 
the  other.  "  The  old  fellow  is  out  on  the 
steps  now,  watching  for  bait.  A  drunkard 
who  is  sober  has  generally  been  at  work 
somewhere,  and  may  have  a  stray  dime  in 
his  pocket;  and  Minnow  is  as  sharp  as  the 
next  one,  when  he  scents  money." 

Then   both   gentlemen   laughed. 


"LABORERS  TOGETHER.  233 

Lloyd  turned  eagerly  in  the  direction  in 
which  they  were  looking,  and  saw  a  shab^ 
bily-dressed  man,  with  a  hard-looking  hat; 
but  it  was  set  squarely  on  his  head,  and  his 
step  was  steady. 

Lloyd  had  no  knowledge  of  the  conflict 
going  on  in  the  man's  mind.  He,  too,  knew 
that  he  was  to  pass  Minnow's.  He  had  not 
been  strong-willed  enough  to  go  the  other 
way,  and  so  avoid  it.  I  do  not  know  that 
it  would  have  made  much  difference  if  he 
had.  It  would  have  been  a  difficult  matter 
in  Eastwood  to  have  avoided  saloons,  though 
some  of  them  were  not  quite  so  low  as 
Minnow's. 

There  were  no  dimes  in  John's  pocket ; 
Miss  Wainwright's  prudence  had  managed 
that  ;  and  there  was  in  John's  mind  a  weak 
and  feeble  inclination  toward  going  home 
sober,  and  seeing  what  his  wife  would  say 
to  the  messenger  from  Miss  Wainwright's  farm. 
The  resolve  had  been  strong  when  he  left 
the  farm,  with  the  earnest  woman's  earnest 
•words  ringing  in  his  ears.  But  it  grew  feebler 
with  every  step ;  he  had  not  been  trained 


234  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

to  self-control.  It  is  true  there  were  no 
dimes,  but  there  were  apples,  great,  red- 
cheeked  beauties,  such  as  grew  nowhere  save 
on  Miss  Wainwright's  farm.  Minnow,  the  rum- 
seller,  was  a  very  loving  father ;  he  would 
have  no  objection  to  dealing  out  a  glass  of 
poison  to  a  man  in  return  for  two  choice 
apples  apiece  for  each  of  his  four  children. 
John  Hartzell  did  not  believe  he  could  pass 
Minnow's  saloon. 

"  Hartzell ! "  called  a  clear,  ringing  voice, 
and  John  paused,  and  looked  around  in- 
quiringly. "  I  have  something  for  you ;  wait 
a  minute." 

And  Lloyd  McLean  exchanged  a  few 
words  with  the  clerk,  who  now  appeared 
from  inside  the  store,  then  dashed  across 
the  road. 

"Your  name  is  John  Hartzell,  I  believe. 
I  am  in  the  post-office,  and  there  was  a  let- 
ter for  you  in  this  afternoon's  mail,  so  I 
pocketed  it  to  hand  to  you  when  I  got  a 
chance." 

"A   letter   for   me  !  " 

John   Hartzell  spoke   slowly,  as   one  bewil- 


"LABORERS  TOGETHER.  231; 

dered,  and  held  out  his  hand  mechanically 
to  receive  the  white  messenger* 

"John    Hartzell,    Esq." 

The  plain,  elegant  writing,  or  the  name, 
or  the  association,  or  something,  sent  a  flush 
over  his  face,  and  unconsciously,  he  straight- 
ened himself,  and  threw  back  his  shoulders. 

Lloyd  smiled.  He  liked  the  effect  of  his 
thoughtfulness. 

"  Minnow  sha'n't  get  hold  of  the  fellow 
to-night,"  he  said,  and  he  turned  and 
walked  behind  him.  Not  close  enough  to 
appear  to  be  following,  yet  close  enough  to 
hear  Minnow  presently  say: 

"  Hello,  John !  been  at  work  to-day  ? 
Come  in  and  have  something." 

But  John  Ilartzell  had  already  broken  the 
seal  of  the  strange  letter,  and  was  deep  in 
the  midst  of  the  first  page,  and  neither  saw 
nor  heard  Minnow.  And  the  letter !  Why, 
the  inside  was  more  bewildering  than  the 
outside.  It  commenced : 

MY  DEAR  IlAirrzF.i,L: 

Old    chum,    how    are    you  ?    If  I    had    only    known, 
those  two    days   which   I    spent    in  Eastwood,   that    you 


236  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

were  in  the  same  town,  how  quickly  I  would  have 
sought  you  out.  Why,  man,  what  were  you  about! 
You  must  surely  have  recognized  the  name  of  Scott 
Durant,  and  remembered  your  old  friend  ?  I  only  heard 
of  you  the  night  I  was  obliged  to  leave,  and  then,  my 
boy,  I  heard  no  good  of  you.  John,  you  are  travelling 
a  road  I  have  been  over,  and  I  came  near  to  the  bit- 
ter end.  You  are  not  as  far  gone  as  I  was,  and  I  am 
saved;  therefore,  there  is  a  chance  for  you;  and  my  ob- 
ject in  writing  you  to-night  is  to  beg  you  not  to  wait 
until  you  reach  the  point  that  I  did,  because  I  am 
only  one  out  of  ten  thousand  who  ever  turns  back  from 
that. 

The  letter  was  long  —  page  after  page  was 
hurriedly  run  through  by  the  man,  who  still 
slowly  made  his  way  through  the  town, 
passing  saloon  after  saloon  in  safety,  thougli 
more  than  one  proprietor  judged  from  his 
appearance  that  John  had  some  money,  and 
invited  him  in.  One  of  them  laid  a  hand 
familiarly  on  his  shoulder,  but  he  shook  it 
off  with  an  irritable  —  "Let  me  alone!" 

He  had  just  reached  the  spot  in  the  let- 
ter where  Durant,  his  old  friend,  was  tell- 
ing about  how  he  readied  one  night  the 
point  where  .he  had  resolved  to  rid  the 
world  of  his  own  worthless  life.  John  Hart- 


"LABORERS  TOGETHER."  237 

zell  had  almost  reached  that  point  himself 
two  or  three  times.  It  made  the  perspira- 
tion start  on  his  forehead  to  read  from  the 
paper  a  description  of  the  sensations  which 
had  filled  his  own  brain  and  heart. 

So  now  you  understand,  much  better  than 
the  two  who  ate  supper  with  him,  how  it 
was  that  John  Hartzell  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing home  that  night  without  having  drank 
a  drop  of  liquor.  Suppose  they  had  known 
all  the  steps  of  that  day  —  from  the  meet- 
ing with  the  boy  Holly,  in  the  morning,  to 
the  meeting  with  the  young  man  at  even- 
ing, with  the  letter  that  was  to  shield  his 
homeward  walk  —  how  they  would  have  ex- 
claimed in  awe  over  it  all!  How  sure  they 
would  have  been  that  all  these  apparent 
trivialities,  meeting  and  shaping  a  destiny, 
could  not  have  happened,  but  must  have 
been  arranged  by  a  Master  hand !  Suppose 
we  knew  all  the  histories  of  all  the  hap- 
penings of  one  day?  With  what  awe,  and 
dismay,  and  terror,  and  gratitude,  they 
might  fill  us,  according  as  we  had,  with  our 
little  thoughtless  words  and  ways,  helped  or 


238  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

•V 

hindered  the  march  of  a  soul!  I  wonder 
when  the  Lord's  own  people  will  awaken  to 
the  fact  that  there  are  no  trivial  things  in. 
life?  —  that  there  are  no  passing  moments 
but  what  decide  the  eternal  destinies  of 
souls? 

It  was  while  they  sat  at  the  table,  and 
John  ate  mechanically  what  was  set  before 
him,  that  Miss  Wainwright's  Peter  knocked. 
As  you  may  well  understand,  John  Hart- 
zell  had  not  come  home  hungry.  His  first 
question,  "Got  anything  to  eat?"  referred 
to  others  than  himself.  For  the  first  time, 
in  at  least  months,  he  thought  of  the  needs 
of  others,  and  wished  that  his  wife  could 
have  such  a  supper  as  he  had  eaten.  He 
thought,  too,  of  the  silver  knife  and  fork, 
and  the  great,  fine  napkin  !  Annie  had  been 
used  to  such  things. 

It  was  Kate  who  opened  the  door  to 
Peter's  knock,  and  Peter,  always  respectful, 
took  his  hat  quite  off  his  head  to  the  neat 
young  woman,  so  entirely  unlike  anything 
that  he  had  seen  on  the  Flats  before. 

"Is     this      Mr.     Hartzell's     place,    ma'am? 


"LABORERS  TOGETHER."         239 

Then  these  things  are  to  be  left  here,"  he 
said.  "Where  will  you  have  them  carried?" 

And  Peter  turned  to  the  well-stocked 
wagon  and  shouldered  a  sack  of  flour. 

"No,  ma'am,  there  is  no  mistake.  Mr. 
John  Hartzell  ordered  them  here,  ma'am. 
They  are  to  pay  for  his  day's  work." 

Peter's  voice  came  in,  distinctly,  to  those 
two  who  sat  opposite  each  other  at  the 
table.  Annie  Hartzell  dropped  her  knife 
and  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face,  trem- 
bling, flushing,  like  the  girl  of  seventeen 
whom  he  remembered. 

"  O  John,"  she  said,  "  did  you  ?  —  have 
3*ou  ?  " 

And  then  she  stopped,  and  laid  her  head 
on  the  table,  and  burst  into  tears. 

Her  husband  rose  up  from  his  chair  and 
came  over  to  her. 

"Annie,"  he  said,  and  the  perspiration 
stood  in  drops  on  his  face. 

Kate  closed  the  kitchen  door,  herself  outside. 

"  Pile  them  here,"  she  said  to  Peter, 
"outside,  on  the  ground,  anywhere.  I  will 
take  them  in  afterward." 


24O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

And  Peter,  wondering,  disapproving,  silently 
obeyed. 

A  bag  of  potatoes,  a  sack  of  flour,  a  lit- 
tle jar  of  butter,  two  chickens,  a  pail  of 
eggs,  a  pail  of  milk,  a  bag  of  apples. 
What  a  day's  work  it  must  have  been! 

Kate  saw,  and  did  not  see,  her  heart 
beating  wildly,  not  over  the  treasures  which 
had  come  to  the  hungry  home,  but  over 
the  possible  scene  behind  that  shut  door. 
One  verse  sang  in  her  heart — "What  hath 
God  wrought!"  Had  she  known,  she  might 
have  rejoiced  her  heart  with  another  —  "We 
are  laborers  together  with  God."  He  had 
many  laborers,  and  he  had  made  use  of 
more  than  one  of  them  that  day. 

As  for  Lloyd  McLean,  he  went  home  with 
quick,  springing  step,  his  pulses  beating. 
He  had  made  his  first  conscious  effort 
toward  succoring  a  tempted  soul,  and  the 
exercise  thrilled  him. 

"Hang  the  stuff!"  he  said.  "I  wis'h 
there  were  none  of  it  in  the  world.  John 
Hartzell  would  certainly  be  better  off,  and  so, 
I  dare  say,  would  Lloyd  McLean — though  I 


"LABORERS   TOGETHER.  24! 

don't  feel  in  any  particular  danger  of  reach- 
ing his  level.  What  if  I  should  sign  a  total 
abstinence  pledge,  and  get  up  a  temperance 
furor  here,  and  get  John,  and  his  father, 
and  a  lot  of  those  fellows,  in?  Hurrah! 
What  an  excitement !  I  don't  know  but  it 
is  worth  the  effort." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ENGAGEMENTS. 

A  SUBJECT  of  very  deep  interest  was 
up  for  discussion  at  the  Copelands. 
They  were  lingering  over  the  breakfast-table ; 
at  least  the  ladies  of  the  family  were ; 
the  doctor  had  hurried  away,  his  breakfast 
half  eaten,  as  usual,  and  Holly  had  excused 
himself,  and  departed  to  school.  Fannie 
Copeland,  her  face  all  in  a  flush  of  pleasure, 
poured  syrup  on  her  buckwheat,  eyes  and 
thoughts  unconscious  of  the  act,  her  tongue 
meanwhile  moving  rapidly. 

"Of  course,  everybody  will  be  there  who 
is  worth  meeting.  The  Flemings  always  give 
delightful  entertainments.  They  say  Josie  ia 
a  perfect  lady  at  home ;  though  she  hardly 
ever  goes  out  without  offending  somebody. 
Mamma,  I  ought  to  have  a  new  dress  for 
242 


ENGAGEMENTS.  243 

such  an  occasion.  I  have  worn  my  blue  silk 
everywhere  for  the  last  two  winters." 

Mrs.  Copeland  could  on  occasion  be  a  very 
determined  woman ;  there  was  no  hesitation 
in  her  answer  at  this  time. 

"  That  is  quite  out  of  the  question,  Fan- 
nie ;  I  wonder  that  you  don't  know  it  with- 
out asking.  The  blue  silk  is  very  pretty 
yet;  you  have  not  worn  it  so  very  frequently, 
and  you  have  never  been  to  the  Flemings' 
in  it.  Child,  look  at  your  plate,  you  are 
flooding  it  with  syrup  !  " 

Fannie  laughed  good-naturedly ;  the  blue 
silk  was  really  not  a  very  sore  subject  with 
her. 

"  That  is  true,"  she  said.  "  I  have  never 
worn  anything  at  the  Flemings.  It  is  the 
first  time  they  have  honored  me  with  an  in- 
vitation. I  must  be  indebted  to  you  for  it, 
Mildred.  Josie  Fleming  likes  to  get  all  the 
stars  about  her.  Mamma,  I  must  have  some 
new  slippers,  anyway,  and  gloves ;  they  will 
dance  all  the  evening,  I  presume.  Charlie 
Lambert  says  Josie  doesn't  know  how  to  en- 
tertain people  in  any  other  way.  I  never 


244  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

saw  a  more  absurd  boy  than  Charlie;  he  is 
always  making  sharp  speeches  about  people 
who  dance,  and  yet  he  dances,  every  chance 
he  can  get.  He  will  be  after  you  the  first 
thing,  Mildred ;  see  if  he  isn't.  He  is  al- 
ways eager  to  have  a  new  name  on  his  list." 

"What  a  strange  evening  to  select  for  a 
party,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland.  "  I  should  think 
the  Flemings  would  have  more  respect  for 
their  New  England  origin  than  to  have  a 
large  company  on  Saturday  evening." 

"  Oh !  I  know  why  that  is ;  Gus  Fleming 
is  here.  He  has  just  run  up  to  spend  Sun- 
day, and  must  be  off  again  on  Monda}r. 
Besides,  mamma,  they  don't  call  this  a  party; 
it  is  'just  a  few  friends,'  the  note  says; 
though  that  means  anywhere  inside  of  a  hun- 
dred. Josie  Fleming  is  never  particular  about 
the  truth." 

Mrs.    Copeland    laughed. 

"You  don't  speak  in  very  high  terms  of 
your  friends,  I  must  say,  Fannie  ;  Mildred 
will  be  wondering  what  remarks  you  make 
about  her  when  she  is  absent." 

"  No,  she    won't,   mamma ;    Mildred    knows 


ENGAGEMENTS.  245 

me  better  than  that.  Friends?  I  wonder 
when  I  ever  pretended  that  Josie  Fleming 
was  a  friend  of  mine  ?  There  isn't  a  per- 
son in  Eastwood  whom  I  like  so  little ;  but 
for  all  that,  she  gives  elegant  entertainments, 
and  one  meets  all  the  nice  people  there,  and 
I  am  very  much  obliged  to  Mildred  for 
visiting  me  and  getting  me  an  invitation. 
What  shall  you  wear,  Milly  ? " 

And  now  Mildred,  who  had  several  times 
opened  her  lips  to  speak,  and  closed  them 
again,  made  herself  heard. 

"I  think  I  must  get  you  to  carry  my  re- 
grets, if  you  will  excuse  me  from  going." 

But  this  produced  an  outburst  of  dismayed 
inquiry.  W\\y  was  she  not  going?  Was  she 
sick?  Offended?  Had  anything  happened? 
Of  course,  Fannie  would  not  go  without  her. 
Fannie's  pleasure  in  the  invitation  hud  largely 
been  that  now  her  friend  would  be  enter- 
tained in  the  style  to  which  she  was  accus- 
tomed. Mildred  could  not  repress  a  smile. 
Evening  parties  were  no  novelty  to  her ; 
they  had  bored  her  too  often.  She  was  not 
accustomed  to  seeing  them  made  matters  of 


246  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

such  importance.  However,  she  must  make 
some  explanation.  Nothing  had  happened; 
she  was  quite  well  and  entirely  happy,  and 
had  a  nice  scheme  for  the  evening.  Miss 
Wainwright  had  given  her  a  special  invita- 
tion to  her  house  that  evening ;  she  had  met 
her  on  the  street,  when  she  went  out  to 
walk  with  Holly. 

Miss  Wainwright !  How  very  strange  !  Was 
she  going  to  have  company ;  and  on  Satur- 
day evening,  too  ? 

"  Oh,  no,  there  was  no  company ;  at  least 
not  what  the  Copelands  meant ; "  and  Mil- 
dred felt  her  face  glowing. 

There  was  a  subject  on  which  she  had  not 
learned  to  speak  frankly.  It  embarrassed  her 
to  say  that  she  had  received  and  accepted 
a  special  invitation  to  the  temperance  prayer 
meeting. 

"To  prayer  meeting?"  repeated  Fannie. 
"What  an  idea !  I  mean,  how  queer  to  think  of 
your  promising  to  go.  A  prayer  meeting  in 
a  house  seems  real  queer,  anyway.  Well,  it 
does,  mamma ;  of  course,  it  is  all  right,  but 
then  —  why,  Mildred  Powers,  you  don't  pre- 


ENGAGEMENTS.  247 

tend  to  say  you  consider  that  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  not  going  to  the  Flemings !  " 

"  Why    not  ? "    Mildred    questioned. 

She  certainly  had  replied  that  she  would 
come.  Wasn't  that  an  engagement? 

Yes ;  but  it  was  only  a  prayer  meeting. 
People  understood,  of  course,  that  something 
might  hinder  her.  But  what  had  possessed 
her  to  say  she  would  go,  in  the  first  place  ? 
Fannie  did  not  understand  it,  and  her  guest 
felt  like  a  hypocrite.  She  gave  close  atten- 
tion to  her  knife  and  fork  for  a  few  min- 
utes, then  laid  them  down,  and  spoke  earn- 
nestly  : 

"  The  truth  is,  Fannie,  I  want  to  go ;  I 
have  changed  very  much  in  some  respects 
during  the  few  months  since  you  and  I 
were  in  school  together.  I  have  been  in- 
tending to  tell  you ;  but  some  way  I  did 
not  seem  able.  I  never  used  to  go  to 
prayer  meetings  of  any  kind,  when  I  could 
help  it.  You  know  that,  but  I  have 
learned  to  pray,  and  like  to  go  where 
people  are  praying,  better,  I  think,  than 
anywhere  else." 


248  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Now,  indeed,  they  had  quiet  —  absolute, 
embarrassed  quiet.  She  spoke  to  a  mother 
and  daughter  who  had  not  learned  to 
pray ;  and  who  did  not  know  in  the  least 
what  reply  to  make  to  this  startling  bit  of 
news.  Fannie  ate  her  cake  at  last,  in 
nervous  haste,  and  Mildred  felt  as  though 
another  mouthful  of  anything  would  choke 
her. 

Fannie   was   the   first   to   find   voice  : 

"  Of  course  I  will  not  go,  Mildred,  if 
you  don't  want  to;  it  was  mainly  for  your 
sake." 

It  was  well  she  said  this.  It  gave  Mil- 
dred speech  again.  It  by  no  means  fol- 
lowed that  because  she  wantect  to  be  else- 
where, and  had  so  planned,  Fannie  must 
be  held  away.  She  was  earnest  in  her 
protest.  Holly  would  walk  with  her  to 
Miss  Wain  Wright's;  he  had  said  that  he 
would  be  glad  to  do  so;  and  Fannie  could 
feel  that  her  friend  was  enjoying  herself 
,in  her  chosen  way.  But  Fannie  was  not 
fully  convinced.  It  had  been  a  great 
pleasure  to  her  to  think  of  introducing 


ENGAGEMENTS.  249 

her  elegant  friend  from  Washington  into 
aristocratic  Eastwood  society.  For  you 
must  know  that  the  Copelands,  though  emi- 
nently respectable,  had  not,  up  to  this 
time,  appeared  often  in  that  portion  of 
Eastwood  society  which  called  itself  aris- 
tocratic. 

Fannie  was  young,  and  Fannie's  father 
was  by  no  means  wealthy ;  two  reasons, 
perhaps,  why  fashionable  life  had  not  laid 
large  claims  upon  her  as  yet.  But  Fannie 
was  as  eager  a  young  fledgeling  as  ever 
beat  her  wings  against  a  home  nest ;  and 
had  learned  many  things  during  her  year 
at  a  fashionable  school  which  she  longed 
to  have  opportunity  to  practice.  Three 
months  ago  when  she  had  known  Mildred 
Powers  well,  they  had  been  much  in  sym- 
pathy on  these  points,  or  at  least  Fannie 
had  supposed  so.  She  could  not  yield 
without  further  argument.  Why  could  not 
Mildred  send  regrets  to  Miss  Wainwright, 
if  it  really  was  an  engagement  ?  Miss 
Wainwright  would  not  certainly  be  so  un- 
reasonable as  to  expect  her  to  give  the 


25O  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

preference  to  a  prayer  meeting?  One  could 
attend  a  prayer  meeting  at  any  time ;  while 
an  entertainment  at  the  Flemings  was  cer- 
tainly not  an  ordinary  event. 

"  And  you  are  so  fond  of  dancing,  Mil- 
dred. I  was  afraid  you  would  not  have  a 
chance  to  have  a  dance  to  real  elegant 
music  while  you  were  here ;  but  the  Flem- 
ings always  have  the  very  choicest.  That 
Mr.  Cleveland  will  be  there,  of  course; 
and  I  know  he  dances  well,  from  his 
walk.  I  wanted  to  see  you  two  dance 
together,  Mildred." 

Fannie's  tone  was  mournfully  reproach- 
ful ;  but  Mildred,  busy  with  her  embarrass- 
ing thoughts,  did  not  notice  it.  Why  need 
she  have  been  such  a  coward  ?  All  these 
things  would  have  been  so  much  easier  in 
their  quiet  confidences  together.  Winy  had 
she  been  so  silent  all  these  days  ?  There 
must  be  other  revelations  now. 

"  I   have   given    up   dancing,    Fannie. " 

"  Given  up  dancing !  "  I  suppose  it  would 
almost  have  amused  you  to  hear  the 
consternation  in  Fannie's  voice.  Mildred 


ENGAGEMENTS.  251 

Powers,  the  most  graceful  dancer  in  the 
school,  the  one  most  sought  after  by  young 
gentleman  skilled  in  that  branch  of  learn- 
ing! Fannie  could  not  understand  it." 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  she  asked 
almost  in  indignation.  "  Why  have  you 
pray  ?  " 

"  That  question  involves  a  long  answer,  at 
least  it  will  if  }'ou  keep  on  saying  why  ? 
And  we  have  detained  Mrs.  Copeland  long 
enough,  perhaps;  I  can  only  tell  you  in 
brief  this:  I  gave  it  up  because  I  could  not 
see  any  way  of  honoring  Christ  in  it,  and 
I  saw  ways  in  which  it  might  bring  re- 
proach on  his  cause ;  so  of  course  I  had  to 
give  it  up.  If  you  care  to  hear  the  long 
story,  Fannie,  I  will  tell  it  to  you  some 
time." 

And  then  they  followed  her  movement  and 
arose  from  the  table  ;  but  Fannie  said : 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  understand  anything 
about  it."  ' 

And  Mildred  knew  she  did  not  and  could 
not,  for  it  was  spoken  in  a  language  that 
Fannie  had  not  learned.  Why  had  she  not 


2$2  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

told  her  before?  This  was  the  refrain  which 
her  conscience  repeated  ajl  that  morning. 
She  saw  herself  hiding  her  Bible  under  the 
red  shawl  on  the  old  lounge,  and  felt  her 
cheeks  glow  for  her  cowardice.  If  she  had 
kept  on  reading,  and  Fannie  had  looked 
curious  and  questioned,  as  Fannie  certainly 
would  have  done,  and  they  had  held  a  long, 
earnest  talk  together,  as  she  had  meant  to 
do  every  hour  since  she  came,  what  might 
not  have  been  accomplished  ? 

But  Fannie  was  induced  to  go  to  the  party 
that  evening.  In  fact,  she  did  not  need  much 
coaxing ;  her  heart  was  set  on  reaching  into  cir- 
cles from  which  her  youth,  at  least,  had  hitherto 
excluded  her.  The  blue  silk  was  freshened 
with  new  trimmings  and  buttons,  and  a  del- 
icate lace  fichu  was  bought  to  cover  a  doubt- 
ful spot  in  the  waist.  Over  the  price  of  the 
fichu  the  dpctor  looked  grave,  it  is  true,  and 
told  his  wife  that  it  would  have  covered  the 
nakedness  of  a  family  who  had  called  to  him 
as  he  was  passing  the  Flats ;  but  the  wife 
had  replied  that  he  must  certainly  see  that 
his  own  daughter  needed  covering  as  well  as 


ENGAGEMENTS.  253 

fhe  people  on  the  Flats.  So  lie  went  away, 
and  gave  to  the  ^>oor  creatures  on  the  Flats 
all  the  skill  that  he  as  a  physician  could 
command,  and  relieved  their  most  immediate 
wants  beside ;  telling  himself  that  he  could 
get  along  without  a  rubber  coat  well  enough ; 
he  had  done  it  for  ten  winters,  he  might  as 
well  do  it  eleven.  And  Fannie  went  to  the 
Flemings'  and  looked  like  a  pretty  girl,  as 
she  was. 

Had  she  heard  the  conversation  at  the 
Flemings  the  morning  their  invitations  were 
issued,  I  do  not  feel  sure  that  she  would 
have  gone. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  invite  Fannie 
Copeland,  mother.  She  has  a  lady  visiting 
her  who  they  say  is  a  relative  of  the  Pow- 
ers of  Washington.  If  I  go  to  Washington 
this  winter,  I  shall  want  to  get  in  with  that 
set.  It  is  queer  to  have  to  get  my  chance 
of  it  through  the  Copelands.  Fannie  hasn't 
a  decent  thing  to  wear.  I  don't  know  how 
she  can  come,  for  my  part.  I  wonder  if  they 
will  expect  me  to  ask  the  Hartzell  girl?" 

Then    Fred   Fleming   had    a   word   to   say : 


254  ONE  COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  Look  here,  Joe.  I  have  a  friend  I  want 
you  to  invite.  You  met  him  at  the  sociable 
or  somewhere.  Bruce  his  name  is;  he  is  a 
good  fellow.  He  clerks  at  McAllister's.  Oh, 
he  isn't  a  swell ;  but  then  he  knows  how 
to  behave  in  good  society.  You  girls  will 
take  to  him,  for  he  is  handsome.  Doesn't 
go  into  society ;  a  book-worm ;  spends  his 
nights  in  studying.  Girls  take  to  that  sort, 
especially  if  they  have  fine  eyes  and  hair. 
You  send  him  an  invitation.  I  like  the  fellow." 

And  Josie,  who  knew  she  must  humor  her 
brother's  whims,  if  she  wanted  his  assistance 
during  the  next  busy  day,  sent  the  invita- 
tion, not  without  a  demur  that  Eastwood 
society  was  sadly  mixed,  and  that  she  pre- 
sumed Eben  Bruce  hadn't  a  dress  suit. 

However,  he  had,  for  he  bought  it  for 
this  occasion.  Went  in  debt  for  it.  He  told 
himself  that  he  needed  a  new  suit,  that  his 
other  was  really  getting  shabby,  and  that 
while  he  was  about  it  he  might  as  well  get 
a  good  one.  He  had  been  drinking  a  glass 
of  wine  just  before  this,  or  he  would  not 
have  done  any  such  thing. 


ENGAGEMENTS.  255 

Fannie  Copeland  was  right  in  her  interpre- 
tation of  "  a  few  friends."  There  were  many 
invitations.  Among  them  two  Christian  men 
were  bidden.  Mr.  Cleveland  glanced  at  his 
note,  said  aloud  with  surprise  in  his  tone : 
"Saturday  evening!"  Then  smiled  as  he  re- 
membered, drew  toward  him  his  writing-case 
and  wrote  a  few  words  about  "previous  en- 
gagement," for  that  evening,  dispatched  a  mes- 
senger with  it  and  put  the  invitation  in  his 
waste  basket  and  the  matter  from  his  thoughts. 
Charlie  Lambert  read  his  and  said: 

"  Saturday  evening  !  Good  for  Josie  !  Here 
is  a  chance  out  from  that  queer  engagement 
that  aunt  Hannah  forced  upon  me.  Odd  night 
for  company,  though.  Pretty  hard  not  to 
infringe  on  Sunday  a  little." 

Then  he  hunted  for  the  proper  materials 
and  wrote : 

MY  DEAR  Miss  WAINWBIGUT: 

I  regret  to  say  that  circumstances  beyond  my  control 
will  prevent  me  from  being  present  at  your  house  this 
evening,  so  you  must  not  depend  on  me  for  the  singing. 
Don't  cross  roe  off  your  books,  though,  and  some  other 
time  I  will  do  my  best  to  serve  you. 


256  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Still  another  read  his  invitation  as  he 
walked  from  the  post-office.  The  distributing 
clerk  had  handed  it  to  him  as  he  was  pass- 
ing out.  It  gave  him  a  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion, for  Lloyd  McLean  was  as  fond  of  hav- 
ing a  good  time  as  he  could  very  well  be. 
This  was  short  notice  for  a  formal  party, 
it  was,  therefore,  probably  not  a  formal  party ; 
but  just  what  it  promised  —  "a  few  friends," 
and  the  extreme  of  fashionable  toilet  could 
be  dispensed  with.  He  had  certainly  had 
very  few  opportunities  to  enjoy  himself  since 
he  came  to  Eastwood.  He  believed  he  would 
go.  Just  then  Mr.  Cleveland  crossed  the 
street  and  came  to  his  side,  linked  his  arm 
in  his  in  an  eager,  friendly  way  and  com- 
menced talking  without  ceremony : 

"  I  claim  you  as  a  colleague.  I  saw  you 
helping  poor  John  Hartzell  past  some  dan- 
gerous places  last  night.  I  was  trying  to 
overtake  him,  but  should  have  been  too  late. 
You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  he  reached 
home  safely.  Miss  Wain wright  tells  me  that 
she  thinks  he  struggled  with  his  appetite 
all  day  yesterday  and  came  off  victor.  We 


ENGAGEMENTS. 


must  save  that  man.  I  wonder  if  it  wouldn't 
be  possible  to  get  him  around  to  Miss  Wain- 
wright's  to-night  ?  Or  would  that  be  working 
too  rapidly  ?  By  the  wa}-,  won't  you  take 
hold  of  the  singing  to-night?  We  want  to 
make  the  first  meeting  a  success,  you  know?" 
Lloyd  McLean  laughed.  He  was  a  merry- 
hearted  fellow.  That  looked  almost  like  a 
joke.  He  was  being  made  to  appear  in  a 
new  role.  A  prayer  meeting,  and  he  leading 
the  singing  !  And  in  league  with  such  a 
man  as  Cleveland  !  That  was  a  curious  jump! 
His  fun  had  been  comparatively  harmless  here- 
tofore; but  it  had  led  him  in  very  different 
company  from  this.  Another  thought  —  had 
he  really  helped  the  fellow  the  night  before? 
Poor  wretch  !  He  pitied  him,  and  he  pitied 
that  pretty  girl,  his  sister.  She  would  be 
at  the  prayer  meeting,  doubtless.  He  wouldn't 
mind  seeing  her  again.  He  wouldn't  mind 
being  thanked  by  her  if  he  really  had  been 
of  any  service.  But  a  prayer  meeting  !  Then 
there  was  that  invitation.  Could  he  compass 
them  both?  Hardly.  They  were  in  opposite 
directions,  more  than  a  mile  apart,  and  the 


258  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

hour  was  set  for  eight  o'clock  —  and  East- 
wood, while  it  aimed  to  be  quite  fashionable 
in  some  respects,  was  primitive  as  to  its 
hours.  It  would  hardly  be  the  thing  to  ap- 
pear much  after  nine  o'clock.  And,  if  the 
Hartzell  girl  should  be  there,  it  wouldn't  be 
just  the  thing  to  let  her  go  home  alone  — 
and  her  way  lay  in  still  an  opposite  direc- 
tion. 

"  Do  you  go  to  the  Flemings'  ? "  he  said 
aloud. 

"I?  Oh,  no.  I  am  engaged,  you  know. 
May  we  expect  you?" 

Here  was  a  chance  to  enter  two  different 
grades  of  society.  How  would  it  do  to 
make  a  jump  and  take  the  grade  where  he 
would  be  least  expected  ?  He  laughed  again. 
It  certainly  had  the  elements  of  a  joke  in  it. 

"I'll  come,"   he  said   to   Mr.   Cleveland. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THINGS   THAT   FITTED. 

FIVE  minutes  afterward  he  was  aston- 
ished at  himself.  What  a  remarkable 
proceeding  for  Lloyd  McLean  to  give  up  a 
party  for  a  prayer  meeting!  Especially  a 
party  at  the  Flemings'.  But  in  that  "espe- 
cially" lay  part  of  his  willingness  to  be 
absent.  He  was  apt  to  be  intense  in  his 
fancies,  and  intense  dislike  for  Josie  Flem- 
ing was  uppermost  now.  There  would  prob- 
ably be  too  much  fashion  there  for  real 
enjoyment.  On  the  whole,  he  was  satisfied 
with  the  condition  of  things.  He  even 
made  a  faint  effort  to  secure  a  recruit  for 
the  meeting,  in  the  person  of  his  room- 
mate. Not  that  he  had  the  remotest  idea 
that  his  friend  Bruce  was  in  peril.  There 
is  not  a  class  of  persons  on  the  earth  who 
259 


260  ONE   COMMONPLACE  DAY. 

can  be  more  obtuse  than  young  men,  on 
occasion.  And  Lloyd  McLean  was  the  only 
one  of  those  who  had  very  much  to  do 
with  Eben  Bruce,  who  did  not  know  that 
he 'had  fallen  on  evil  days.  You  will  remem- 
ber how  completely  Lloyd  was  deceived  on 
the  day  of  the  picnic.  Since  that  time  he 
had  not  seen  much  of  Bruce.  Evening  work 
at  the  office  had  been  heavy,  and  grew 
heavier  as  the  old  year  waned.  Business 
was  crowding  also  at  the  store,  apparently, 
for  on  the  two  evenings  when  he  had  come 
home  comparatively  early,  Bruce  was  not 
in  yet,  and  did  not  come  until  Lloyd  was 
asleep.  One  night  he  found  him  in,  and 
sleeping  heavily  as  one  utterly  tired  out. 
He  rallied  him  the  next  morning  on  being 
in  such  haste  for  bed  as  to  have  gone  only 
half  ready,  but  received  a  cold  and  some- 
what haughty  answer.  He  had  noticed  that 
Bruce  was  heavy-eyed  and  irritable,  and  in 
many  ways  unlike  himself.  He  attributed 
it  to  disappointment  that  his  chosen  plans 
of  study  were  so  interrupted,  and  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  overworked  for  months. 


THINGS    THAT   FITTED.  26 1 

"That  fellow  will  go  home  broken  down  in 
health  before  the  winter  is  over,"  he  had 
remarked  more  than  once  to  a  mutual  ac- 
quaintance, and  he  had  refrained  from  prac- 
tical jokes  and  merry  ways,  and  been  as 
sympathetic  as  he  could ;  and,  had  he  been 
asked,  would  have  replied  confidently  that 
Bruce  never  drank  a  drop.  Yet  not  a  day 
had  passed  since  the  picnic  that  Eben  Bruce 
had  not  drank  more  liquor  than  his  nervous 
system  could  bear.  Nor,  indeed,  had  there 
been  a  day  when  he  had  not  resolved  that 
he  would  never  touch  the  stuff  again.  He 
was  certainly  not  going  into  this  thing  with 
blinded  eyes.  He  had  tumbled  headlong  at 
first,  it  is  true,  but  he  had  made  the  imme- 
di.ite  discovery  that  his  will  was  not  strong 
enough  to  resist  the  awful  temptation  which 
that  first  fall  had  opened  before  him.  Oh, 
for  some  friend  at  hand  to  point  him  to  the 
only  source  of  safety! 

I  hope  you  are  not  mixed  as  to  time. 
You  are  to  understand  that  this  first  prayer 
meeting,  for  which  preparation  was  being 
made,  was  not  on  the  Saturday  immediately 


262  ONE  COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

following  the  picnic,  but  a  week  later.  It 
had  been  discovered  that  there  were  obsta- 
cles in  the  way  of  that  first  Saturday,  and 
the  meeting  had  therefore  been  arranged 
later. 

Promptly  at  the  appointed  time  the  "  few 
friends"  gathered  in  Mr.  Fleming's  hand- 
some parlors.  His  parlors  were  the  largest 
and  best  furnished,  so  far  at  least  as  re- 
garded the  upholsterer's  art,  of  any  house 
in  Eastwood. 

Fannie  Copeland  certainly  looked  well  in 
her  blue  silk,  toned  as  it  was  by  the  soft, 
rich  lace  of  the  costly  fichu.  The  one  who 
discovered  in  her  a  special  attraction  was 
Eben  Bruce.  It  so  happened  that  these  two 
met,  for  the  first  time,  and  Fred  Fleming 
was  the  one  who  introduced  them. 

"She  is  a  pretty  girl,"  he  said  to  his 
sister,  "and  she  is  just  Bruce's  style;  you 
are  not  at  all,  Jo ;  he  is  intellectual ;  kills 
himself  studying  nights,  they  say." 

"And  is  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse,  of 
course,"  Miss  Josie  replied,  her  lip  curling  j 
"those  students  always  are." 


THINGS  THAT   FITTED.  263 

Miss  Josie  was  not  in  good  humor.  Mr. 
Cleveland  had  declined  her  invitation;  so, 
also,  had  that  handsome-eyed,  young  Mr. 
McLean,  whom  she  thought  she  especially 
honored  by  admitting  him  into  her  circle. 

It  is  true  that  Fannie's  bright  ways  and 
words  had  charms  for  Eben  Bruce.  She 
had  made  good  use  of  her  year  at  school, 
and  was  well  posted  in  some  studies,  and 
quick-witted  in  all  directions.  Her  mother 
was  not  the  only  one  who  believed  her  to 
be  superior  to  most  of  the  young  girls  in 
Eastwood.  She  could  dance,  too,  as  well  as 
talk.  This  last  was  not  an  item  of  impor- 
tance with  Eben  Bruce ;  he  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  sneering  at  the  people  who 
spent  all  their  time  cultivating  their  heels, 
and  had  held  himself  aloof  from  the  amuse- 
ment. But  Fannie,  interested  in  his  society, 
set  herself  to  secure  more  of  it  by  offering 
to  teach  him  the  steps. 

"It  is  simple  enough,"  she  said,  "any  one 
with  a  rhythmical  brain  can  catch  the  move- 
ment." 

So    they   joined    the    dancers,    and    Eben 


264  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

Bruce  found,  as  many  another  has  found, 
that  there  was  a  certain  kind  of  intoxica- 
tion in  this  amusement  that  appealed  to  the 
side  of  his  nature  which  seemed  just  to 
have  awakened  into  being. 

It  was  found  that  the  dancing  had  been 
somewhat  premature ;  refreshments  were  being 
served,  and  together  this  young  couple  went 
to  the  refreshment  room.  I  think  I  have 
told  you  before,  that  Eastwood,  at  least  in 
the  upper  end  of  it,  was  an  old,  sleepy, 
aristocratic  town ;  but  the  waves  of  modern 
movement  had  reached  them  sufficiently  for 
the  better  class  of  the  community  to  frown 
on  the  serving  of  intoxicants,  in  even  their 
milder  forms,  at  social  gatherings.  There 
were,  therefore,  many  among  the  guests  who 
looked  gravely  at  the  display  of  wine- 
glasses, and  coldly  shook  their  heads  when 
the  wine  was  offered. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  home-made  wine," 
Josie  said,  stopping  before  Eben  Bruce  as 
she  saw  l.im  shake  his  head;  "even  your 
grandmother  could  not  object  to  it.  Mamma 
sees  to  her  wines  herself,  and  has  imbibed 


THINGS  THAT   FITTED.  265 

so  many  whims  lately,  that  she  will  not 
have  any  in  the  house  save  those  which 
are  made  here.  She  says  she  knows  what 
they  contain,  and  that  they  can  harm  no 
one.  Fannie,  let  John  fill  your  glass,  and 
you  and  Mr.  Bruce  can  drink  a  toast  in 
honor  of  my  birthday." 

History  repeating  itself.  If  only  these  two 
had  been  familiar  with  the  history.  If  they 
could  have  looked  in  on  that  birthday  party 
only  a  few  years  back  and  then  on  the 
Hartzell  household  of  to-day  !  There  is  many 
an  "if"  to  consider.  If  Fannie  had  been 
taught  by  her  mother  that  home-made  wine 
was  a  great  and  poisonous  serpent  in  dis- 
guise ;  if  Fannie  had  been  posted  as  to  what 
one  glass  of  it  might  do  for  a  young  man  ; 
if  Charlie  Lambert,  standing  by,  looking  on 
with  a  certain  degree  of  anxiety,  aware  him- 
self that  home-made  wines  were  not  inno- 
cent—  aware,  too,  that  the  young  man  in 
question  was  a  tempted  soul  —  had  been  able 
to  shake  himself  away  from  the  trammels  of 
society  sufficiently  to  lay  his  hand  on  Fan- 
nie Copeland's  arm  with  the  familiarity  of 


266  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

long  acquaintance  and  say,  "  Don't  take  it, 
Fannie,  it  is  dangerous"  —  it  is  at  least  pos- 
sible that  results  other  than,  what  followed 
might  have  been.  As  it  was,  though  Charlie 
Lambert's  face  flushed,  and  he  looked  anx- 
ious, he  kept  still ;  aud  Fannie  said  lightly : 

"I  declined  wine  because,  to  tell  the  truth, 
it  is  apt  to  give  me  a  headache ;  I  don't 
like  the  taste  of  it  very  well,  either ;  but 
I  can  sip  enough  for  a  birthday  remem- 
brance if  Mr.  Bruce  is  anxious." 

And  Mr.  Bruce,  who  had  wanted  to  drain 
the  glass  and  only  held  himself  back  out  of 
respect  to  the  lady  beside  him,  seized  it 
with  an  eagerness  that  some,  watching,  did 
not  fail  to  see. 

"  Jo  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  that,"  said. 
Fred  Fleming,  angrily.  "  That  fellow  has  too 
much  brain  to  play  with  wine,  if  it  is  home- 
made. It  is  the  baldest  nonsense  to  say 
there  is  no  harm  in  it,  for  I  know  better." 

"  Why,  Fred,"  said  a  young  lady,  sweetly, 
"it  is  the  alcohol  in  these  things  that  does 
harm ;  there  is  no  alcohol  in  home-made 
wines,  you  know." 


THINGS    THAT    FITTED.  267 

And  she  was  a  young  lady  who  had  taken 
nine  studies  in  the  high  school,  and  as  many 
more  in  a  seminary  of  renown,  and  taken 
the  French  prize,  and  graduated  in  white 
silk  and  ten-buttoned  gloves,  and  read  an 
essay  on  "The  Possibilities  of  the  Future," 
and  in  this  age,  with  all  the  light  which  has 
been  set  aglow  on  the  subject,  knew  no  more 
than  that  about  the  possibilities  of  a  glass 
of  home-made  wine.  The  young  man  sneered. 
Most  young  men  know  more  than  this. 

As  for  Eben  Bruce,  he  knew  only  too  well 
that  there  was  enough  in  the  home-made 
wine  to  set  a  slumbering  demon  wide  awake 
in  his  breast.  He  knew  while  he  swallowed 
the  tiny  glassful,  that  now  he  must  get 
away  from  here  as  fast  as  possible ;  get 
where  they  did  not  veil  the  serpent  in  kid 
gloves  and  roses,  nor  present  it  in  cut  glasses 
that  would  hold  a  thimbleful. 

Several  people,  Fannie  Copehind  among 
them,  missed  the  handsome  young  stranger 
very  soon  after  supper.  What  had  become 
of  him?  The  hostess  said  he  regretted  that 
he  hud  been  suddenly  called  away.  Charlie 


268  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

Lambert   wished    that    he    had    kept    an   eye 
on   the   fellow,   and   tried   to   save  him. 

Fannie  Copeland  innocently  wondered  if 
he  had  received  any  bad  news,  and  hoped, 
in  her  heart  that  he  would  return,  for  the 
evening  was  less  bright  when  he  was  away ; 
and  none  of  them  knew  that  Fred  Fleming, 
poor  Fred  Fleming,  who  was  sure  that  he 
himself  would  drink  too  much,  long  before 
the  evening  was  over,  followed  his  guest  to 
the  door,  and  said: 

"  Now  don't,  Bruce  ;  remember  you  are  in 
danger." 

The  innocent,  home-made  wine  was  work- 
ing, even  then,  in  the  hot  young  brain,  and 
Bruce  shook  the  warning  off  with  an  angry  — 

"  Let  me  alone  ;  you  are  a  pretty  one  to 
preach ! " 

And  Fred  sighed,  and  went  back  to  his 
mother's  dining-room  to  drink  more  wine. 

Meantime,  Miss  Wainwright,  on  Saturday 
morning,  was  seated  in  her  handsome,  old- 
fashioned  family  carriage,  drawn  by  two  shin- 
ing horses.  Peter,  who  had  been  installed 
as  coachman,  and  was  in  a  new  suit,  which 


THINGS    THAT    FITTED.  269 

fitted  his  promotion,  was  driving  with  great 
care,  and  had  just  rounded  the  corner,  when 
he  received  an  order  to  halt.  Charlie  Lam- 
bert was  passing,  the  inevitable  cigar  in  his 
mouth. 

"  Does  that  fit  ?  "  was  the  first  question  he 
asked,  as  he  obeyed  the  lady's  summons  to 
her  side.  Something  in  her  face  reminded 
him  of  the  last  conversation  they  had  held 
together.  He  inclined  his  head  toward  the 
horses  as  he  spoke.  "  It  is  a  nice,  comfort- 
able establishment,  and  I  presume  you  take 
great  pleasure  in  riding  around  in  it :  I 
know  I  should ;  but  I  was  wondering  whether 
it  fitted  your  new  notions  nicely." 

"  It  hasn't,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  frankly, 
"but  it  can  be  made  to.  I  have  been  think- 
ing of  ways  in  which  it  shall.  But,  Charlie, 
there  is  one  thing  you  want  to  get  over, 
and  that  is  the  notion  that  I  have  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  getting  up  of  that 
verse.  Why  don't  you  read  it  for  yourself 
in  the  Bible  ?  It  is  there,  word  for  word. 
If  my  ways  don't  fit  it,  they  ought  to; 
there  is  DO  mistake  about  that.  I  don't  be- 


2/O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

lieve  I  shall  have  as  much  trouble  with  the 
horses  and  carriage  as  you  will  with  cigars. 
There !  don't  speak,  I  beg.  You  look  for  all 
the  world  as  though  you  were  going  to  say: 
4  That  is  not  a  parallel  case.'  I  never  knew 
a  young  man  to  get  worsted  in  an  argu- 
ment that  he  did  not  slip  into  that  corner. 
Just  find  out  what  your  habit  is  parallel 
with,  will  you,  and  see  how  you  like  the 
association  ?  What  I  want  to  know  now  is 
whether  you  are  coming  to  help  us  to-night? 
We  must  know  what  to  depend  upon.  We 
want  good  singing,  and  considerable  of  it. 
I  don't  believe  in  the  regulation  way  of 
managing  a  prayer  meeting;  at  least  I  don't 
think  this  one  wants  to  be  managed  by  rule. 
Will  you  be  on  hand?" 

Now,  Charlie  Lambert's  invitation  had  not 
yet  reached  him,  and  he  saw  no  way  of 
answering,  save  by  a  reluctant  consent,  leav- 
ing himself  the  loophole  that,  unless  some- 
thing unavoidable  prevented,  he  would  be 
present.  I  suppose  he  arranged  with  his  con- 
science that  the  party  at  the  Flemings' 
should  be  the  something  unavoidable. 


THINGS  THAT   FITTED.  2/1 

Miss  Wain  wright  was  on  her  way  to  mar- 
ket, and  to  look  up  Miss  Hunter,  whose 
acquaintance  she  was  in  haste  to  make  and 
to  see  if  in  any  way  this  same  carriage 
could  be  made  to  contribute  to  the  cause 
of  her  Master.  Charlie  had  not  suggested  a 
new  idea.  Miss  Wainwright's  carriage  had 
not  escaped  scrutiny,  when  she  took  an  in- 
ventory of  all  her  belongings,  and  asked 
them  in  what  way  they  were  contributing 
to  what  was  supposed  to  be  her  chief  aim. 
Could  Charlie  Lambert  help  her  in  any  way? 
Did  he  know  anything  about  that  Miss 
Hunter  of  whom  Mr.  Durant  spoke? 

No ;  Charlie  Lambert  had  not  heard  Mr. 
Durant  speak  of  any  such  person.  He  did 
not  know  the  name.  He  was  sure  his  mother 
could  not  know  of  any  new-comers  of  that 
name,  or  he  should  have  heard  it  mentioned. 
Didn't  Miss  Wain  wright  know  the  address? 

"  Not  exactly.  It  was  somewhere  near 
Smith  Street." 

"Smith  Street!"  and  Charlie  looked  dis- 
mayed. "Why,  aunt  Hannah,  that  must  be 
a  mistake.  Smith  Street,  you  know,  is  that 


2/2  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

one  at  the  entrance,  almost  to  the  Flats. 
There  is  hardly  a  decent  house  on  the 
street." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  sturdily, 
"he  didn't  say  she  lived  in  a  decent  house; 
he  said  she  was  a  good  woman." 

But  she  gave  the  order  to  drive  on.  Char- 
lie Lambert  was  not  the  one  to  help  her 
this  morning ;  if,  indeed,  there  was  enough 
of  him  to  help  anybody. 

"  Still,  if  there  isn't,  he  ought  to  be 
helped,"  said  poor  Miss  Wainwright,  and 
she  sighed  a  little.  This  problem  of  living 
was  getting  to  be  very  complicated. 

The  Flats!  Just  what  did  that  name 
cover  which  was  being  so  continually  sounded 
in  her  ears  during  these  days?  She  had 
been  a  resident  of  Eastwood  for  many  years, 
but  the  Flats  was  a  name  and  a  place  which 
seemed  to  have  sprung  up  with  the  coming 
of  the  railroad,  and  the  region  belonged  to 
a  part  of  the  town  almost  utterly  unknown 
to  Miss  Wainwright;  yet  human  beings  lived 
there,  and  were  huddled  together  in  dis- 
graceful crowds,  she  had  heard.  What  was 


THINGS  THAT   FITTED.  273 

being  done  to  make  the  region  respectable? 
What  could  be  done?  She  revolved  these 
questions,  but  received  no  answer,  and  had, 
some  way,  a  burdened  feeling  that  the  Flats 
and  the  puzzling  verse  in  the  Bible  had 
been  exhumed  together.  John  Hartzell  lived 
on  the  Flats.  Did  he  reach  home  sober? 
Could  she  do  anything  more  for  him? 
Could  she  find  him,  she  wondered? 

"Peter,"  she  .said,  suddenly  leaning  out 
from  the  carriage,  "do  you  know  where 
the  part  of  the  town  begins  that  they  call 
the  Flats?  Well,  then,  drive  there.  I  want 
to  look  at  it." 

Peter  drove  in  silence.  He  knew  how 
the  place  looked.  Down  one  of  the  filthy, 
narrow  alleys  went  the  high-stepping,  sleek 
horses  and  the  handsome  carriage.  Some  of 
the  children  threw  mud ;  some  of  them 
yelled,  and  threw  up  their  arms  in  a  vain 
effort  to  frighten  the  horses,  and  all  of  them 
stared.  Dirty-faced  women  came  to  the  doors 
and  stared.  What  a  strange  sight  for  the 
Flats ! 

Miss     Wainwright,     with     wide-open,    gray 


274  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

eyes,  was  gazing  right  and  left.  Such  a 
phase  of  life  as  this  she  had  heard  of,  but 
never  seen  before.  Suddenly  she  gave  a 
low,  startled  exclamation,  and  a  quick  order: 
"  Peter,  stop  here  I  " 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE  PROOF  OF  THE   DIVINE   HAND. 

THE  carriage  stopped  in  the  narrowest 
part  of  the  alley  before  a  house,  that, 
if  anything,  was  more  dreary  than  the 
others  in  the  row.  That  this  place  was  just 
now  a  centre  of  interest  of  some  sort,  was 
apparent.  Hough-looking  men  and  women 
stood  about  on  the  steps,  and  even  out  into 
the  filthy  lane.  There  was  an  air  of  quiet, 
as  though  something  unusual  had  stepped  in 
and  hushed  the  common  noises  of  the  re- 
treat. A  shabbily  dressed  man  was  coming 
out  of  the  door,  and  the  gazers  with  one 
consent  fell  back  and  made  a  way  for  him 
to  pass.  It  was  this  man,  and  the  burden 
he  carried,  which  had  called  forth  Miss 
Wainwright'a  startled  order ;  for  he  had 
under  his  arm  a  small  pine  box,  unpaiiited, 
275 


2?6  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

I 

unadorned  in  any  way,  yet  unmistakably 
serving  as  a  last  resting-place  for  some  one's 
dead.  There  followed  him  the  most  hag- 
gard-faced woman  Miss  Wainwright's  eyes 
had  ever  seen.  There  were  no  tears  on  the 
face ;  she  looked  like  one  who  had  shed  all 
her  tears  years  before,  and  who  had  now 
nothing  but  settled  despair  with  which  to 
meet  any  calamity.  Yet  she  was  young, 
younger  by  years  than  Miss  Wainwright. 
Two  frightened  children  stole  behind  her, 
and  this  desolate  group  was  evidently  about 
to  make  its  way  to  some  spot  where  the 
coffined  child  could  rest. 

"  Here,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  leaning 
from  her  carriage  and  speaking  hi  the  tone 
of  quiet  command  which  generally  produces 
obedience,  "  bring  it  here ! "  and  she  tossed 
the  cushions  right  and  left,  making  room 
for  the  small  coffin.  "  Help  the  woman  in, 
and  the  children."  This  was  her  next  order, 
and  she  threw  open  the  carriage  door.  A 
man  whose  face  she  knew,  stepped  suddenly 
forward  to  do  her  bidding.  She  recognized 
him  by  a  word  of  command :  "  John,  put 


THE   PROOF    OF  THE   DIVINE   HAND.         277 

the  children  on  this  seat  with  me,  and  turn 
that  left  seat." 

The  mother,  meantime,  had  regarded  the 
new-comer  with  a  half-dazed  air,  and  made 
no  resistance  to  her  orders.  She  was  as  one 
to  whom  it  mattered  little  what  came  next, 
and  whom  nothing  would  have  surprised. 

"John,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  "where  is 
the  minister?  There  is  room  for  him." 

The  listeners  stared.  Some  of  them 
laughed.  "  They  ain't  got  no  minister,"  said 
one. 

John  Hartzell  was  fastening  the  carriage 
door  and  made  no  reply. 

"Didn't  you  have  a  funeral  service?" 
said  shocked  Miss  Wainwright,  and  the  man 
who  had  clambered  in  after  the  coffin 
answered : 

"We  don't  know  no  minister,  and  no  min- 
ister don't  know  us.  We  are  strangers  here. 
Nobody's  come  near  us ;  and  she  said  she 
didn't  care,  now  Mollie  was  dead.  There 
couldn't  nothing  help  her,  and  it  didn't 
make  no  difference." 

For   the   first  time  in    her  life,   Miss   Wain- 


2/8  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

wright  discovered  that  there  was  a  form  of 
sorrow  more  eloquent  than  tears. 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  Just  those  two  words  es- 
caped her;  then  she  shut  her  lips.  A  funeral 
without  a  minister,  and  a  prayer,  was  to 
her  the  final  drop  of  human  desolation.  She 
had  not  realized  that  such  things  could  be, 
in  this  Christian  land. 

Eastwood  was  by  no  means  a  large  city; 
in  fact,  it  was  not  a  city  at  all,  but  a  large 
town,  with  much  more  than  its  share  of  the 
very  poor;  owing,  some  people  said,  to  their 
having  been  drawn  thither  by  the  prospect 
of  work  on  the  railroads ;  and  others,  to  the 
fact  that  there  were  large  factories  where 
men  could  find  employment;  and  others 
knew  it  was  owing  to  the  fact  that  there 
were  more  rum  saloons  in  the  town  than  in 
any  place  of  its  size  within  a  radius  of  a 
hundred  miles. 

This  is  everywhere  the  story,  in  brief,  of 
the  very  poor.  It  was  the  story  of  this  fam- 
ily. It  was  plainly  marked  on  the  father's 
bloated  face. 

"  John,"    said     Miss    Wainwright,  "  take    a 


THE   PROOF    OF   THE   DIVINE    HAND.         279 

seat  with  Peter,  will  you,  and  help  us 
through.  I  am  going  for  my  minister  to 
come  and  have  a  prayer  with  us  when  we 
get  to  the  grave.  Peter,  drive  to  Howard 
Place,  No.  36." 

It  was  such  a  short  drive  from  the  Flats ! 
How  strangely  life  was  mixed ! 

"  He  won't  come !  "  These  were  the  first 
words  which  the  mother  had  spoken.  Her 
voice  was  the  very  impersonation  of  utter  quiet 
despair.  She  had  evidently  given  up  all  hope 
of  every  kind.  The  words  made  Miss  Wain- 
wright  pray  that  Doctor  Brandon  might  be 
at  home  and  able  to  answer  her  call.  He 
was  a  student,  and  his  morning  hours  were 
precious,  and  Miss  Wainwright  was  one  of 
the  few  who  recognized  this,  and  rarely  in- 
truded. She  never  remembered  having  stopped 
at  the  parsonage  before  in  the  morning. 
What  if  he  should  tell  her  that  it  was  quite 
impossible  for  him  to  answer  to  this  call 
from  the  Flats?  These  people  were  none  of 
his. 

Doctor  Brandon  was  a  comparatively  new 
man  among  them.  It  was  altogether  an  ex- 


28O  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

periment.  As  if  to  echo  her  thoughts,  the 
father  said,  as  the  carriage  was  turning  into 
Howard  Place :  "  There  ain't  no  account  to 
disturb  any  minister.  We  couldn't  pay  no 
one,  not  if  our  lives  depended  on  it ;  and 
she  allowed  that  she  didn't  care  for  that, 
nor  nothing  else  ;  and  we  just  managed  it." 

"  Pay  I "  said  Miss  "Wainwright,  with  energy. 
If  that  miserable  mother  had  not  been  sit- 
ting beside  him,  she  would  have  reminded 
him  then  and  there,  that  he  had  probably 
given  the  rumsellers  enough  to  have  furnished 
a  respectable  coffin  for  his  baby  and  respect- 
able clothing  for  the  living ;  but  she  re- 
strained her  tongue,  and  only  said,  "  John, 
ring  the  bell  at  No.  36,  will  you  ? " 

Oh,  to  be  sure  of  her  pastor !  He  was  in 
his  study,  and  the  shades  were  drawn,  to 
keep  out  the  outside  world.  The  sharp  clang 
of  the  doorbell  reached  his  thoughts,  busy 
though  they  were  with  the  grand  theme, 
"  The  Proof  of  the  Divine  Hand  as  Seen  in 
Daily  Providences."  It  was  not  half  an  hour 
since  he  had  said  to  the  little,  smiling  boy 
who  answered  his  doorbell: 


THE  PROOF    OF   THE   DIVINE   HAND.         28 1 

"  Albert,  say  to  whoever  calls,  that  I  am 
very  busy  this  morning,  and  can  not  be  dis- 
turbed." 

He  heard  Albert's  quick  feet  respond  as 
though  the  bell-wire  had  been  attached  to 
them.  In  a  moment  the  messenger,  unless 
he  were  very  determined,  would  be  silenced  ; 
yet  Doctor  Brandon  arose,  crossed  the  room 
and  deliberately  drew  up  his  shade  to  see 
what  was  wanted.  Miss  Wainwright's  car- 
riage, and  on  the  front  sent,  a  little  coffin ! 
Albert's  voice  had  begun  his  carefully  pre- 
pared story : 

"Doctor  Brandon  is  very  busy  this  morn- 
ing, and "  —  then  the  bareheaded  minister 
took  it  up. 

"  Miss   Wainwright,  what  is   the  trouble  ? " 

It  needed  but  a  sentence,  spoken  low,  from 
Miss  Wainwright,  before  the  minister  com- 
prehended enough  of  the  situation  to  make 
prompt  response. 

"Certainly,  I  will.  Why,  that  is  very  sad. 
I  would  have  come  in  a  moment,  of  course. 
Albert,  my  coat  and  hat.  Alice,"  and  he 
turned  to  explain  to  the  lady  who  had  come 


282  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

to  the  door  to  speak  to  Miss  Wainwright, 
and  had  stopped,  startled  at  the  sight  of 
the  little  coffin. 

She  listened,  and  nodded,  and  said  only 
two  words :  *'  Poor  mother  !  "  Then  she  stepped 
forward,  and  laid  a  spray  of  snowdrops,  which 
she  had  just  broken  from  the  bush,  on  that 
pine  box. 

It  was  well  for  that  mother  that  the  ser- 
vant of  God,  who  took  a  seat  beside  her, 
saw  "the  Divine  Hand"  in  this  providence, 
and  chose  his  words  with  a  care  worthy  of 
the  wise  Master  whom  he  served. 

"A  little  coffin,"  he  said,  in  low,  sympa- 
thetic tones.  "Another  baby  rescued  from 
the  sin,  and  the  sorrow,  and  the  danger  of 
this  dangerous  world." 

And  the  mother,  whose  eyes  had  been 
fixed  on  those  snowdrops,  suddenly  buried 
her  head  in  the  folds  of  her  ragged  shawl, 
and  sobbed  as  though  her  poor  heart  was 
breaking.  They  were  the  first  tears  she  had 
shed  since  the  baby  sickened  What  had 
she  not  suffered  and  sacrificed  for  that  baby ! 
No  wonder  that  she  loved  it !  She  lived  so 


THE   PROOF  OF   THE  DIVINE   HAND.         283 

far  away  from  the  sound  of  Heaven  that  not 
a  thought  of  the  sweet,  old  story,  of  its 
beauty,  and  its  rest,  and  the  little  children 
gathered  there,  had  come  to  her  since  her 
own  childhood,  when  she  had  known  it  well. 
The  Divine  Hand  was  with  Doctor  Bran- 
don. The  Divine  Voice  whispered  to  him ; 
the  next  words  he  said  were  these : 

Around  the  throne  of  God  in  heaven, 

Thousands  of  children  stand; 
Children  whose  sins  are  all  forgiven  — 

A  holy,   happy  band. 
In  flowing  robes  of  spotless  white, 

See  every  one  arrayed, 
Dwelling  in  everlasting  light, 

And  joys  that  never  fade. 

Did  he  know  how  that  mother's  sore  heart 
had  longed  for  one  little  white  robe  to  put 
on  her  darling,  when  she  dressed  it  for  the 
last  time,  and  how  it  had  been  impossible  to 
her?  No,  but  the  Divine  One  did. 

The  carriage  moved  slowly  now.  Peter, 
with  grave  face  and  eyes,  that  were  dimmed 
with  tears,  held  back  the  high-stepping 
horses.  John  Hartzell  steadied  the  pine  box 


284  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

with  a  hand  that  trembled ;  these  were 
strange  experiences  for  him.  How  came  he 
to  be  standing  by  that  house,  and  in- 
quiring what  was  the  matter,  just  as  Miss 
Waiuwright's  carnage  appeared?  There  had 
been  a  funeral  of  a  little  baby  once  which 
he  did  not  attend,  because  he  was  lying  in 
a  drunken  stupor  when  the  coffin  was  borne 
away;  and  he  had  stolen  the  little  half- 
worn  shoes  of  that  dead  baby,  and  sold 
them  for  the  liquor  which  stupefied  him. 
He  did  not  know  whether  there  had  been 
a  minister  at  that  funeral;  he  was  sure 
there  had  been  no  carriage.  He  could  re- 
member a  funeral,  a  baby's,  where  there 
had  been  a  white  casket,  and  silver  adorn- 
ments, and  nodding  plumes,  and  costly 
flowers,  and  dirge-like  music,  and  many  car- 
riages ;  that  was  the  funeral  of  his  little 
brother ;  and  he  remembered  his  mother's 
tears,  and  knew  that  she  had  shed  bitterer 
ones  for  him  even  before  she  died,  than 
any  which  fell  on  that  coffin. 

"Better    in    there,"    he    said,    nodding    his 
head   toward   the  pine   box,   and   speaking  in 


THE   PROOF   OF  THE   DIVINE  HAND.         285 

a  husky  voice  to  Peter,  "better  in  there 
than  to  live  to  be  such  men  as  the  father 
and  I  have  made." 

Now  Peter  was  the  servant  of  the  Lord. 
He  wanted  always  and  everywhere  to  speak 
the  message  that  his  Master  would  have 
spoken.  What  was  it  now?  He  was  still 
for  a  moment,  then  he  said: 

"Yes,  but  better  to  get  ready  to  go  after 
them,  looking  so  that  they  will  not  be 
ashamed  to  meet  us.  I've  got  a  baby  up 
there — two  of  them;  I  don't  want  them  to 
be  ashamed  of  father,  when  he  comes ;  I 
don't  mean  they  shall  be." 

Only  that.  And,  like  a  flash,  shone  out 
words  in  the  letter  which  John  Hartzell 
had  received  but  the  night  before:  "John, 
I  heard  that  you  had  buried  your  boy 
while  he  was  yet  a  baby.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  you  are  to  meet  the  boy  again  ? 
Do  you  mean  to  meet  him  only  to  gaze  at 
his  glory  for  a  moment,  and  then  leave 
him  forever?" 

The  words  had  been  lost  last  night,  in 
the  rush  of  other  and  earlier  memories,  but 


286  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

they  came  and  glowed  before  him  now. 
Poor  John  Hartzell !  Had  the  wretch  who 
sold  him  rum  in  exchange  for  the  little 
shoes,  known  how  nearly  his  reason  was 
tottering  that  morning;  known  how  he 
dumbly  felt  that  he  must  have  liquor,  just 
to  drown  his  consciousness,  so  that  the 
gnawings  of  remorse  would  not  drive  him 
wild,  he  might  have  felt  less  virtuous  wtan 
he  told  his  wife  that  such  a  wretch  as  that 
ought  to  die ;  that  he  hadn't  a  spark  of 
humanity  left  in  him,  and  that  the  sooner 
he  drank  himself  to  death  the  better! 

Poor  John  Hartzell !  Theoretically,  he  had 
known  it  all  his  life  ;  for  he  had  been  well- 
grounded,  in  his  childhood,  in  the  facts  of 
Christianity,  but  it  came  to  him  for  the  first 
time  this  morning  as  a  realization  that  it 
was  possible  to  see  his  baby  again,  and  to 
see  him  in  joy,  not  in  shame  and  remorse. 
A  faint  conception  came  to  him  of  what  it 
might  be  to  have  a  Saviour  who  was  able 
to  blot  out  all  bitter  memories ;  it  held 
him  dumb,  awe-stricken  almost.  And  Peter, 
sitting  beside  him,  prayed  the  Divine  Voice 


THE    PROOF    OF    THE    DIVINE    HAND.         28/ 

to  speak  to  him,  because,  his  own  blunder- 
ing tongue  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  did 
not  know  that  he  had  said  words  which 
would  sound  sweetly  in  his  ears  in  the 
resurrection  morning. 

Charlie  Lambert  was  coming  down  Vine 
Street,  sauntering ;  business  did  not  press 
him  that  morning.  He  saw  the  well-known 
carriage  in  the  distance ;  he  smiled  as  he 
remembered  that  he  had  probably  sent  its 
owner  on  an  uncomfortable  search  after 
things  that  would  "fit."  What  had  she 
done,  he  wondered ;  something  eccentric,  of 
course.  He  waited  for  the  carriage,  curious 
to  know ;  it  would  probably  turn  down 
Vine  Street;  he  would  like  to  quiz  its 
owner  a  little.  No,  it  did  not  turn ;  it 
kept  steadily  up  the  avenue  toward  Grove 
Lawn,  and  turned  in  at  those  open  gates; 
the  cemeterj' !  the  potter's  field,  apparently, 
for  the  horses  turned  down  that  left  side. 
And  on  the  front  seat  was  a  little  pine 
box  I  This  was  certainly  eccentric  enough, 
but  there  was  hardly  room  for  quizzing ! 

When   the  carriage  came  back  to  the  Flats, 


288  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

and  stopped  once  more  before  the  wretched 
little  house,  certain  changes  had  taken  place. 
The  room  had  been  swept,  the  table  set 
neatly  for  dinner ;  a  good  fire  was  burning 
and  a  kettle  on  the  stove  was  emitting  cer- 
tain savory  odors,  and  Kate  Hartzell  stood 
before  the  table  cutting  slices  of  bread  from 
a  good-sized  loaf.  A  middle-aged  woman, 
with  her  plain,  rather  coarse  gray  alpaca 
dress  turned  up,  and  her  sleeves  rolled  above 
the  elbows,  was  washing  a  yellow  bowl  in 
which  she  meant  to  serve  whatever  the  ket- 
tle contained. 

Kate  went  to  the  door  when  the  carriage 
stopped.  The  question  was,  would  John 
Hartzell  return  with  them,  or  would  he  slip 
away  down  town  into  temptation  and  misery? 
No ;  he  was  there,  and  opened  the  carriage 
door  with  a  grave,  sober  face,  for  the  mother 
and  father,  and  then  for  Miss  Wuinvvright 
herself. 

"  John,"  said  Kate  Hartzell,  "  I  wish  you 
would  get  me  a  pail  of  water ;  I  cannot 
make  the  pump  work." 

She   said   it   as   quietly  as   though   she   had 


THE    PROOF   OF    THE   DIVINE    HAND.          289 

been  used  to  asking  him  such  commonplace 
assistance  as  this ;  and  he  took  the  pail  and 
turned  away  as  quietly  as  though  it  had 
not  actually  been  years  since  he  had  con- 
tributed even  so  much  to  the  comforts  of  a 
home. 

"  You  here  ?  "  said  Miss  Wainwright ;  and 
she  held  out  her  hand  in  cordial  greeting. 

"I  live  almost  next  door,"  said  Kate, 
"but  I  did  not  know  there  was  trouble  here 
until  I  saw  them  going  away  this  morning." 

"What!  Next  door?  I  thought  you  lived 
"  Then  she  stopped. 

"  My  father  lives  three  doors  from  here, 
and  my  brother  John.  I  have  come  home." 

Her  lips  were  trembling  a  little.  It  was 
a  pitiful  home  for  her  to  own  to.  Miss 
Wainwright  looked  hard  at  her. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  after  a  moment, 
with  a  wise  nod  of  her  head,  "you  have 
come  fishing.  Claim  the  promise,  child.  He 
won't  deny  his  word.  Who  is  this?" 

She  was  looking  toward  the  woman  in 
gray,  who  was  bending  over  the  savory 
kettle. 


2QO  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"She  lives  not  far  away.  Is  a  new  neigh- 
bor, she  says,  who  saw  the  coffin  this  morn- 
ing, and  came  over.  She  has  been  here  ever 
since  at  work ;  she  brought  things  for  them 
to  eat.  She  says  her  name  is  Priscilla  Hunter. 
I  never  saw  her  before." 

Miss  Wainwright's  gray  eyes  had  a  peculiar 
look  in  them.  Here  was  one  of  her  morn- 
ing errands  done  for  her,  then.  She  went 
into  the  little  box  of  a  bedroom  where 
mother  and  children  had  retreated.  Then 
came  out  again  presently,  and  stopped  for  a 
moment  at  the  door,  her  hand  on  the  fath- 
er's shoulder,  as  he  stood  looking  aimlessly 
down  at  nothing. 

"You  have  been  through  scenes  this  morn- 
ing which  ought  to  help  make  a  man  of 
you,"  she  said  firmly.  "  You  were  one  once. 
I  can  see  it  in  your  face,  even  }ret.  Let 
the  flowers  spring  up  all  over  that  grave 
for  your  wife  to  remember  forever.  Stay  at 
home  this  afternoon  until  you  get  a  message 
from  me,  if  you  want  a  place  to  work,  and 
I  believe  in  you  enough  to  think  that 
you  do." 


THE  PROOF  OF  THE  DIVINE  HAND.    29! 

Then  she  turned  to  Miss  Priscilla  Hunter, 
who  had  turned  down  her  dress  and  was 
tying  on  a  rusty,  black  bonnet,  and  draw- 
ing gray  cotton  gloves,  several  sizes  too  large 
for  her,  over  yellowed  and  bony  hands. 

"Miss  Hunter,"  she  said,  and  held  out  her 
neatly-gloved  hand,  "I  was  in  search  of  you; 
I  heard  from  a  reliable  source  that  I  would 
find  a  friend  and  helper  in  you.  Take  a 
seat  in  ray  carriage,  and  let  us  get  acquainted 
and  compare  notes." 

So  the  coarse,  gray  dress,  and  the  plain, 
handsome  black  silk  dress,  entered  the  car- 
riage together,  and  John  Hartzell  closed  the 
door,  bowing  in  something  like  his  old  fash- 
ion to  Miss  Wainwright.  Then  Peter  drove 
carefully  and  skilfully  down  the  narrow 
alley. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HEDGED  IN. 

I  DON'T  live  so  far  away  that  I  need 
to  ride  home,"  said  Miss  Hunter,  as  she 
clambered  into  the  carriage,  "but  then  I 
have  to  go  away  down  street,  not  far  from 
where  you  live,  and  I  would  rather  ride  than 
walk,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you.  But  I  think 
you  must  be  mistaken  in  the  person.  I  am 
nothing  in  the  world  but  an  old  maid,  who 
gets  her  living  by  sewing  for  the  tailors, 
day  in  and  day  out.  I'm  not  •  likely  to  be 
the  sort  of  person  you  would  choose  for  a 
friend." 

Miss  Wainwright  surveyed  her  guest  re- 
flectively. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked  at  last.  "I'm  an 
old  maid  myself.  I  may  have  a  little  more 

money   than  you,  but   I  don't  know  as   I  am 
292 


HEDGED    IN.  2Q3 

any  worse  on  that  account,  if  I  use  it 
properly.  Aren't  we  at  work  for  the  same 
Master  ?  The  command  to  me  was  to  serve 
with  all  my  heart,  and  mind,  and  soul,  and 
to  love  my  neighbor  as  well  as  I  do  myself. 
Are  your  orders  any  different  ? " 

"  Not  a  whit,"  said  Miss  Hunter  heartily. 
"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  would  .  agree. 
What  are  you  trying  to  do?" 

"  Everything.  I  can't  centre  myself.  I 
tried  to,  but  new  things  come  up  every 
hour.  I  began  with  Peter,  who  drives  my 
horses,  but  that  very  day  I  went  to 
a  picnic  and  got  mixed  up  with  a  dozen 
people,  who  all  seemed  to  belong  to  my 
work.  Then  I  tried  to  locate  my  energies 
on  John  Hartzell ;  but  here  are  these  peo- 
ple this  morning,  claiming  my  attention,  and 
I  find  I  am  about  as  much  interested  in  Kate 
Hartzell  as  I  am  in  her  brother,  though  I 
am  not  sure  that  she  is  in  need  of  any 
particular  help.  Then  there  are  two  or  three 
boys — young  men,  I  suppose  they  call  them- 
selves—  who  interest  me  wonderfully,  and  so 
it  goes.  I'm  all  divided  up.  For  the  matter 


294  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

of  that,  the  verse  that  started  me  is  not 
very  exclusive.  4  Whatsoever  ye  do,'  it  said ; 
the  trouble  is,  while  I  am  engaged  in  doing 
one  thing,  another  springs  up  beside  it  that 
seems  to  need  doing,  and  divides  the  in- 
terest." 

"I  know,"  and  Miss  Hunter  nodded,  her 
bright  eyes  twinkling  appreciatively ;  "  I  get 
led  off  that  way  myself ;  but  there  is  one  thing 
on  which  I  am  centred,  and  it  has  by-ways 
and  lanes  enough  to  keep  me  busy ;  I'm 
bound  to  fight  rum,  always  and  everywhere ; 
in  whatever  form  and  among  whatever  peo- 
ple I  find  it,  I  am  its  sworn  foe ;  pledged 
to  circumvent  it  if  I  can." 

Miss  Wainwright's  smile  was  pleasant  to 
see. 

"Then  I  know  what  Mr.  Durant  meant," 
she  said.  "  Good !  I'm  with  you.  I  com- 
plained of  not  having  a  helpmeet.  We'll 
work  together.  Where  do  you  live?" 

"  Here,"  said  Miss  Hunter,  glancing  from 
the  carriage;  "that  brown  door  with  an  old- 
fashioned  lock  on  it  is  mine." 

It   was  not  very  far  from  the  region  known 


HEDGED    IN. 


as  the  Flats,  and  was  certainly  not  an  im- 
provement on  them.  Where  that  region  was 
lined  with  filthy-looking  homes  and  filthy 
children,  this  was  lined  with  saloons  and 
restaurants  of  the  lower  kind,  and  abounded 
in  drunkards. 

"  Here  !  "  said  Miss  Wainwright,  drawing 
back  in  dismay;  "couldn't  you  have  done 
better  than  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  could.  There  was  a  clean 
little  room  on  Webb  Street  where  only  de- 
cent people  live  ;  that  I  could  have  got. 
I  sew  for  the  man  who  owns  it,  and  I  could 
have  had  it  at  a  bargain,  and  there's  no 
denying  that  I  wanted  it.  But  I  put  that 
want  down  with  some  others,  and  told  them 
to  let  me  alone  ;  I  was  coming  just  here  to 
live  and  nowhere  else." 

"  But  why  ?  "  persisted  Miss  Wainwright, 
"it  is  a  bad  place  for  a  woman  alone,  cer- 
tainly. What  made  you  think  you  ought  to 
do  such  a  thing?" 

"  Well,  now,  111  tell  you.  If  you  look 
up  and  down  the  street,  you  will  see  that 
there  isn't  a  decent  place  nor  a  safe  one  for 


296  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

a  tempted  man,  within  a  block  on  either 
side.  They  all  sell  ruin  in  some  form.  This 
room  was  to  be  rented  with  the  rest.  There 
was  as  evil  a  looking  man  after  it  the  day 
I  rented  it  as  I  ever  saw.  He  wanted  to 
make  a  pool  room  of  it.  I  thought  it  all 
over;  the  things  I  could  do  and  the  things 
I  couldn't.  If  I  had  had  money,  I  should 
have  rented  the  room  and  fitted  it  up  nice 
and  homelike  and  hired  a  nice  homelike  old 
man  to  come  and  keep  it,  and  had  it  a 
bright,  clean  lounging  place  for  the  boys 
who  were  not  so  far  astray  but  that  they 
could  appreciate  its  clean,  bright  looks  and 
ways.  But  I  hadn't  the  money,  you  see, 
and  so  I  had  to  do  the  best  I  could. 

"  Oh  !  you  needn't  look  shocked ;  I  am  no 
would-be  reformer  trying  to  turn  the  world 
upside  down  ;  mixing  white  with  black,  until 
a  looker-on  can't  tell  which  is  which.  I  re- 
member that  I'm  a  woman.  I  can't  invite 
them  in,  poor  fellows,  and  give  them  a  pity- 
ing word  now  and  then  as  I'd  like  to.  I 
have  to  keep  my  doors  closed  and  locked. 
But  all  day  and  all  the  evening  I  keep  my 


HEDGED    IN. 


shades  up.  There's  a  room  up-stairs  where 
I  sit  and  sew  ;  but  downstairs  there  isn't  a 
soul  to  be  seen  ;  only  a  cheery  fire  in  the 
grate,  and  a  round  table  with  a  red  cloth 
on,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  a  news- 
paper on  it,  and  the  big  old  Bible  that  my 
father  used  to  read  out  of,  and  a  rocking- 
chair  at  the  left  and  a  little  smaller  chair  just 
the  other  side,  both  of  them  empty;  and  the 
room  as  bright  as  a  good-sized  lamp  will 
make  it.  It's  a  picture,  don't  you  see?  I 
don't  know  how  many  poor  fellows  who  stagger 
by,  had  homes  like  it  once,  where  maybe 
the  mothers  and  fathers  sat  and  waited  for 
them  ;  sometimes  I  think  it  is  a  good  thing 
that  the  chairs  always  have  to  be  empty, 
because  they  will  remind  some  of  them  all 
the  plainer  that  the  mothers  and  fathers  are 
gone. 

44  Well,  there  I  keep  the  room,  looking  as 
much  like  a  picture  of  a  neat  plain  home 
as  I  can,  and  I  stretch  the  shades  just  as 
high  as  I  can,  and  then  I  go  up-stairs  and 
make  buttonholes,  and  pray  that  the  Lord 
will  use  the  one  clean  place  on  this  street, 


ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


somehow,  for  his  glory.  I  have  to  leave  the 
*ho\v'  with  him.  But  the  chairs  won't  al- 
ways be  empty,  I  hope  and  pray.  I  want 
to  get  acquainted  with  wives  and  mothers, 
and  get  them  to  trusting  me,  and  then  when 
they  come  hunting  their  treasures  who  are 
lost  in  this  street,  I  want  them  to  learn  to 
slip  in  here  and  wait  and  watch,  and  if 
they  can  get  hold  of  the  husband  or  the 
son,  to  drop  into  this  clean  fepot  with  him, 
and  try  to  coax  him  back.  I  don't  know 
what  will  come  of  it,  I  am  sure.  It  is  the 
best  thing  I  could  plan,  and  I  am  trying 
it.  I  have  only  been  here  a  month.  The 
chairs  haven't  been  used  yet.  Only  on  Sun- 
days ;  I  use  them  then.  I  have  a  class  of 
boys  down  at  the  Mission  Chapel  in  the 
morning,  and  I  coax  them  to  drop  in  on 
Sunday  afternoon.  They  won't  stay  at  home, 
and  home  is  such  a  dreadful  place  for  them 
anyway,  I  suspect,  so  I  coax  them  in.  I 
want  to  have  a  little  something  to  tempt 
them  with  ;  an  apple,  or  a  bite  of  cake  if  I 
can  manage  it,  or  even  a  bit  of  candy  now 
and  then.  They  are  young,  poor  fellows,  and 


HEDGED   IN.  299 

they  have  had  none  too  much  petting  in 
their  lives.  There  are  only  four  of  them. 
It  is  a  queer  way  to  work,  I  know,  and 
maybe  not  overwise,  but  I  haven't  seen  my 
way  clear  to  any  other  plan.  I'm  tired  of 
folding  my  hands  and  waiting  for  folks  who 
are  wiser  than  I,  to  give  me  something  to 
do.  When  they  get  it  ready  I'll  help  do 
it  if  I  can ;  but  while  I'm  waiting,  I  may 
as  well  work  along  in  those  ways  that  I 
can  think  of.  I  know  they  wouldn't  do  for 
everybody;  I  wouldn't  take  a  class  of  little 
girls  at  the  Mission,  because  I  could  not  in- 
vite them  to  my  house ;  it  is  no  place  for 
girls  to  come.  But  I  am  old  and  homely 
and  decent ;  and  almost  everybody  knows  it. 
A  woman  of  fifty,  without  any  family  of 
her  own,  can  do  a  dozen  things  that  wouldn't 
have  done  for  her  at  twenty,  you  know." 
Miss  Hunter  had  talked  on  rapidly,  and 
Miss  Wainwright  had  not  been  able  to  inter- 
rupt ;  at  first  because  of  her  astonishment,  and 
afterward  because  of  a  choking  in  her  throat. 
She  could  not  have  explained  what  the 
thought  of  that  clean  little  room  shining 


3OO  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

out  of  that  moral  desert  was  to  her.  She 
made  one  comment  only,  when  the  voluble 
voice  ceased. 

"  Such  things  take  money.  You  may  as 
well  be  glad  that  the  silver  and  the  gold 
are  his.  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  that  he  has 
made  me  one  of  his  stewards." 

Then  she  told  to  Miss  Hunter  the  story 
of  the  prayer  meeting  from  its  first  incep- 
tion up  to  this  coming  evening,  when  they 
hoped  to  gather  for  the  first  meeting.  Miss 
Hunter  listened  and  nodded  and  asked  ques- 
tions and  nodded  again,  and  said  with  an 
emphatic  ^oice,  as  the  carriage  stopped  to 
set  her  down  at  the  point  she  had  men- 
tioned : 

"  Good ;  I'll  be  there.  The  thing  grows, 
doesn't  it?" 

As  the  carnage  turned  the  corner,  Miss 
Wain  wright  saw  Mr.  Cleveland  coming 
toward  them  and  waited  for  him. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  the  person  I  want 
to  see  ? "  was  her  greeting.  "  There  are 
two  men  who  ought  to  find  employment 
to-day,  and  the  probability  is  that  either 


HEDGED    IN.  3<DI 

Satan's  stewards  or  the  Lord's  will  furnish 
it  for  them.  The  question  is,  which?"- 

"I've  engaged  for  life  with  the  latter," 
Mr.  Cleveland  said.  "  Who  are  they,  and 
what  can  they  do  ?  can  you  recommend  them  ?  " 

"For  what?  Honesty  and  sobriety  and 
industry?  No,  I  can't.  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  their  honesty;  and  I  know  they 
will  not  be  likely  to  keep  sober  all  day, 
unless  some  force  outside  of  their  weak 
wills  is  brought  to  bear  on  them ;  and,  as 
for  industry,  they  may  have  forgotten  how 
to  work,  for  all  I  know.  But  for  being 
sorely  tempted  souls,  who  have  a  faint  de- 
sire to  live  different  lives  from  what  they 
have  of  late,  I  can  recommend  them. 
Wasn't  that  as  much  as  could  be  said  of 
you,  Mr.  Cleveland,  when  the  Lord  took 
hold  of  you?" 

"Quite  as  much,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
am  ready  to  do  what  I  can  for  them  on 
that  recommendation." 

There  followed  a  conference  as  to  ways 
and  means,  and  Miss  Wainwright  went  home, 
to  get  ready  for  the  evening. 


3O2  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY.  » 

I  do  not  think  that  the  faith  of  one 
reached  so  far  as  to  expect  John  Hartzell 
to  be  among  the  number  who  attended  that 
Saturday  evening  prayer  meeting.  Yet  he 
was  there.  Not  that  he  had  intended  it. 
It  was  one  of  those  singular  combinations 
of  apparently  trivial  things,  of  which  we 
speak  when  we  say  "it  happened,  thus 
and  so." 

John  Hartzell  had  found  work  the  re- 
mainder of  that  day  in  Mr.  Cleveland's  own 
grounds,  under  his  watchful  eye.  He  had 
taken  his  supper  there,  a  most  bountiful 
one,  intended  to  quiet,  as  much  as  food  and 
drink  could  do  it,  the  cravings  of  an  un- 
natural appetite.  He  was  still  there  when 
Mr.  Cleveland's  man  Peter  went  for  the 
afternoon  mail,  and  Lloyd  McLean  just  hap- 
pened to  raise  his  eyes  as  the  man  was 
helping  himself  at  the  lock  box,  and  said: 

"I  suppose  you  don't  know  anything  of 
the  whereabouts  of  a  fellow  named  Hartzell, 
do  you?  Here  is  a  letter  for  him." 

So  the  letter  had  gone  up  in  the  late 
mail,  and  had  been  handed  to  John  as  he 


HEDGED    IN.  303 

he  arose  from  the  supper-table.  Beautiful 
writing  — 

"John   Hartzell,    Esq." 

I  don't  suppose  you  have  any  idea  what 
;i  strange  sensation  the  name  thus  written 
gave  to  the  fallen  man.  He  sat  down  in 
the  rustic  chair  on  the  back  piazza,  and 
read  the  letter.  Mr.  Cleveland  came  toward 
him  just  as  it  was  concluded.  He  arranged 
for  future  days'  works,  and  complimented 
John  on  his  faithfulness  that  afternoon,  and 
asked  him  finally  if  he  would  stop  at  Miss 
Wainwright's,  on  his  way  home,  with  a 
basket  of  choice  apples  that  his  mother 
wished  to  send  her.  He  thought  of  the 
prayer  meeting,  it  is  true,  but  decided  that 
it  would  not  do  to  invite  John  to  attend. 

John  Hartzell  carried  the  apples,  and 
Keziah,  as  she  opened  the  door  to  him, 
happened  to  remember  that  Miss  Wainwright 
had  said  that  afternoon :  "If  I  could  see 
John  Hartzell,  I  would  give  him  this  box 
to  carry  home,  just  as  it  is.  There  are  a 
dozen  tilings  in  it  his  wife  would  find  use- 
ful/' so  Keziah  said: 


3O4  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Miss  Hannah  wants  to 
see  you." 

And  Miss  Wainwright,  on  being  sum- 
moned, was  thrilled  with  a  sudden  hope, 
and  said : 

"O  John  Hartzell!  I  don't  know  but 
the  Lord  sent  you  here  at  this  very  min- 
ute. If  you  honestly  want  to  be  a  man,  as 
you  told  me  you  did  only  yesterday,  come 
in  and  stay  with  us  this  evening.  We  have 
met  to  pray  for  you." 

"John,  old  friend,  will  3-011  do  this  for 
me,  for  the  sake  of  old  times?  If  you  hear 
of  a  prayer  meeting  anywhere  on  Saturday 
evening,  won't  you  go  to  it?  It  was  in  a 
prayer  meeting  that  I  got  just  the  help  I 
needed;  help  which  has  lasted  ever  since." 

That  was  one  sentence  in  John's  letter. 
He  remembered  the  words  distinctly ;  he  had 
sneered  over  them,  in  a  sad,  hopeless  kind 
of  way.  The  idea  of  Ms  hearing  of  a 
prayer  meeting !  He  did  not  believe,  in  the 
first  place,  that  there  was  such  a  thing  in 
Eastwood ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  how 
would  it  be  possible  for  him  to  know  any- 


HEDGED   IN.  305 

thing  about  it.  And,  as  for  going,  the 
people  would  think  him  crazy !  Yet  here 
was  the  prayer  meeting,  and  here  was  his 
invitation  to  enter!  It  gave  John  Hartzell 
a  strange  feeling,  as  of  one  surrounded, 
hedged  in  by  some  solemn,  unseen  force. 
Theoretically,  he  was  acquainted  with  God. 
He  had  a  general  knowledge  of  the  ortho- 
dox belief  in  the  presence  in  this  world  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  and  in  his  power  over 
hearts.  Was  God  calling  John  Hartzell? 

Almost  like  one  dazed,  and,  without  a 
word  in  reply,  he  pulled  off  his  shabby  hat, 
and  followed  Miss  Wainwright  into  the  par- 
lor, where,  by  the  south  window,  sat  his 
wife  and  sister! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

PARALLELS. 

MEANTIME  the  conversation  which  was 
being  held  in  Miss  Wainvvright's 
parlor  was  not  such  as  is  usual  at  prayer 
meetings.  For  that  matter,  it  was  not  yet 
the  hour  for  meeting,  and  some  remark  of 
Miss  Hunter  had  drifted  the  talk  into  the 
channel  which  led  Mr.  Jerome  Morrow,  who 
was  a  member  of  the  same  church  with  Mr. 
Cleveland,,  to  ask  this  question  : 

"That  sounds,  sir,  as  though  you  wanted 
to  make  the  temperance  question  a  party 
issue.  Would  you  cast  your  vote  in  that 
line  ?  " 

"  Would  I  vote  for  a  thing  that  I  have 
prayed  for,  for  six  years,  do  you  mean  ? 
What  would  you  think  of  my  praying,  if  I 
did  not?" 

306 


PARALLELS.  3O/ 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  begging  the  question, 
isn't  it  ?  A  man  might  pray  for  a  thing, 
and  yet  honestly  believe  that  the  time  had 
not  come  to  get  it." 

"  Certainly,  he  might.  But  if  he  had 
prayed  for  a  man  to  help  him  in  the  direc- 
tion of  deliverance  and  the  day  came  when 
the  man  stood  at  the  door,  ready  to  help, 
if  only  some  one  would  unlock  it  and  let 
him  in  —  in  order  to  be  consistent  wouldn't 
I  have  to  help  unlock  it?" 

"But  if  j-ou  were  sure  you  couldn't  un- 
lock it,"  Mr.  Morrow  said,  smiling,  but  tak- 
ing up  the  metaphor,  "  and,  meantime  there 
was  another  door  and  another  man,  that  the 
best  class  of  people  were  willing  to  let  in, 
shouldn't  you  throw  your  help  where  it  will 
tell?" 

"You  need  three  doors  to  that  building," 
said  Miss  Hunter,  her  keen  eyes  flashing 
appreciation  of  the  coming  argument. 

Both   gentlemen  laughed. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Morrow,  "let  us 
have  three  doors  —  a  man  at  each.  The 
third  man  neither  you  nor  I  approve.  For 


308  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

the  sake  of  the  argument,  we  will  -say  that 
of  the  two  you  prefer  the  second  man,  and 
that  you  have  good  reason  to  believe  that 
if  you  will  unite  your  strength  to  mine,  we 
can  open  the  door  for  him ;  but  if  you  will 
persist  in  your  first  choice,  you  will  accom- 
plish nothing  for  your  man,  and  hinder  me, 
and  give  the  third  door  the  right  of  way. 
That  is  the  way  the  thing  looks  to  me." 
And  the  gentleman  sat  back,  well  pleased 
with  the  clearness  of  his  position. 

"  I  will  grant  all  your  statements,  so  far 
us  you  have  gone,"  Mr.  Cleveland  said, 
speaking  with  the  quiet  assurance  of  one 
who  had  been  taken  over  this  ground  a 
great  many  times,  and  was  familiar  with 
every  foot  of  the  way,  "  but  there  are  cer- 
tain important  considerations  which  you  have 
omitted.  I  am  a  Christian,  and  must  look 
at  this,  as  well  as  at  everything  else,  froih 
a  Christian  standpoint.  I  see,  from  my 
position,  a  giant  wrong  standing  in  the  way, 
blocking  the  wheels  of  the  gospel  of  Christ, 
slaughtering  souls  whom  Christ  died  to  save. 
The  man  whom  I  would  admit,  is  pledged 


PARALLELS.  3OQ 

against  this  wrong  —  has  been  working  for 
years  to  rid  the  country  of  it.  For  the 
sake  of  argument,  we  will  say  that  the  man 
whom  you  would  admit  winks  at  it  —  turns 
his  back  on  efforts  to  suppress  it.  The 
third  man  boldly  admits  it  into  the  country 
as  one  of  its  institutions.  Now,  in  the  sight 
of  God,  I  am  pledged  to  stand  by  the  right. 
If  I  honestly  believe  this  giant  wrong  to  be 
the  force  which  the  Christian  world  is  called 
to  put  down,  I  must  in  every  possible  way 
give  my  push.  I  may  not  be  strong  enough 
to  move  the  giant  a  single  inch.  He  may 
laugh  at  me  for  the  attempt.  I  may  need 
your  help,  and  your  neighbors'  help,  to  do 
this  thing.  If  neither  of  you  will  give  it 
to  me  —  if  instead,  you  persist  in  tugging 
at  that  middle  door,  and  fail — on  whom 
does  the  responsibility  rest,  because  the 
country  is  left  to  the  third  man  ?  —  on  me, 
who,  in  all  good  conscience,  before  God, 
gave  my  push  where  I  solemnly  believe  he 
told  me  to  ?  or  on  you  who  said,  '  This 
right  thing  can  not  be  done  now ;  so  we 
will  do  one  thing  which  is  a  little  wrong, 


3IO  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

»iu  order  to  save  ourselves  from  that  which 
is  a  good  deal  wrong?'  Does  it  never  occur 
to  you  that  if  a  great  company  of  you  should 
do  the  thing  which  is  perfectly  true  and 
right,  there  would  be  no  danger  from  the 
third  door?" 

"  But  I  do  not  accept  your  premises," 
said  Mr.  Morrow,  with  a  touch  of  irritation 
in  his  voice.  "  I  do  not  say  that  the  vote 
I  would  cast  is  a  little  wrong.  I  believe 
it  to  be  the  best  one  which  can  be  cast." 

"Very  well,  if  you  have  gone  to  God  for 
light,  and  you  believe  in  all  sincerity  that 
this  is  what  he  would  have  you  do,  I  don't 
urge  you  to  the  contrary.  The  fact  is,  my 
friend,  if  you  do  not  believe  intemperance 
to  be  a  giant  sin,  and  the  selling  of  alcohol 
to  be  a  monstrous  crime,  there  is  no  argu- 
ment between  us." 

"  But  I  do  think  just  those  things.  I  am 
as  strong  a  temperance  man  as  that.  I 
would  be  glad  if  there  were  never  to  be 
another  drop  of  the  stuff  sold.  What  I  say 
is  that  we  can  gain  nothing  by  pushing  in 
that  direction  now^  because  we  know  there 


PARALLELS.  3 1  I 

are  not  enough  of  us,  and  we  can  lose  a 
great  deal." 

Mr.   Cleveland   shook   his   head. 

"Untenable  ground,  my  friend.  If  this 
thing  is  wrong,  and  you  and  I  do  what 
we  can  toward  removing  it,  we  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  results.  Let  the  men  who 
see  the  wrong,  and  refuse  to  add  their 
strength  to  overthrow  it,  shoulder  the  awful 
responsibility  of  failure ;  it  is  certainly  re- 
moved from  us." 

"  The  other  day  I  heard  a  woman  telling, 
that  down  in  Watervale,  where  Mr.  Durant 
was  working  last  spring,  there  had  been 
more  liquor  drank  this  summer  than  ever 
before ;  she  said  the  saloon-keepers  were  so 
angry  about  the  temperance  excitement,  that 
they  just  gave  away  their  liquors  for  weeks, 
treated  everybody  who  came  in,  and  started 
some  young  men  to  drinking  who  had  been 
sober  before.  And  she  gave  it  as  her 
opinion  that  an  excitement  which  produced 
such  results  did  more  harm  than  good." 

It  was  Miss  Hunter's  clear,  firm  voice 
that  made  this  statement.  Mr.  Morrow 


312  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

looked  over  at  her  with  a  sudden  gleam  of 
interest.  This  sounded  like  an  ally  for  his 
side,  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

"I  should  think  there  could  not  be  two 
opinions  about  that,"  he  said  quickly. 

Mr.    Cleveland    laughed. 

"I  like  to  hear  such  arguments,"  he  said; 
"it  would  seem  as  though  their  utter  ab- 
surdity would  give  us  recruits  from  the 
other  side.  Imagine  the  soldiers  in  the 
Revolution  folding  their  hands  and  letting 
the  enemy  alone,  because  every  attempt  on 
their  part  roused  a  volley  of  shot  from  the 
other  side,  and  killed  and  wounded  some  of 
ours !  What  an  independence  our  country 
would  have  achieved  had  the  war  been  man- 
aged on  such  principles!" 

"Then  the  Bible  is  mistaken  when  it  says, 
4  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.'  I  am 
sure,  from  Miss  Hunter's  statement,  the 
fruits  of  that  temperance  effort  were  any- 
thing but  cheering." 

Mr.  Cleveland's  opponent  was  evidently 
growing  cross.  But  Mr.  Cleveland  himself 
was  perfectly  at  ease. 


PARALLELS.  313 

"I  think  the  verse  holds  true,  Mr.  Mor- 
row ;  it  applies  to  Satan's  kingdom  as  well 
as  to  the  Master's.  You  would  hardly  mean 
to  be  understood  that  you  think  these  were 
the  fruits  of  the  temperance  effort,  would 
you?  I  understand  them  to  be  the  fruits 
of  Satan's  rage  against  the  work.  The 
heathen  rage  still,  and  will  doubtless  con- 
tinue to  do  so  for  years  to  come ;  unless, 
indeed,  God's  people  fall  into  line,  and  ac- 
cept him  as  their  leader,  instead  of  trying 
to  find  a  more  expedient  way." 

Mr.  Morrow  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair; 
he  was  a  younger  man  than  Mr.  Cleveland; 
in  fact,  had  but  just  begun  to  vote  at  all, 
and  of  course  he  was  of  the  opinion  that 
wisdom  would  die  with  him. 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  be  understood  that 
expediency  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
affairs  of  this  country?  I  beg  your  pardon, 
but  I  think  that  thing  is  nonsense  ;  of 
course,  one  must  determine  whether,  all  things 
considered,  this  is  the  wise  way  to  take  for 
the  country's  good.  Wh}-,  the  Bible  says 
that  even  Ggd  winked  at  the  times  of  men's 


314  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

ignorance.  We  must  use  common  sense  in 
these  matters,  and  go  no  farther  than  the 
people  will  go  with  us.  What  is  the  use 
in  leading  where  people  will  not  follow?" 

Then  he  had  the  benefit  of  a  pair  of 
searching  eyes  fixed  fully  on  him  for  at  least 
a  minute  before  Mr.  Cleveland  spoke  with 
deliberation  : 

"Do  you  really  mean  to  use  God's  for- 
bearance as  a  ruler,  his  infinite  patience 
with  ignorance,  to  prove  that  a  man  who 
is  not  ignorant  may  do  what  is  just  a  lit- 
tle wrong,  in  order  to  avert  what  he  con- 
ceives to  be  a  greater  wrong  ?  " 

"  But  I  say  it  is  not  wrong ;  I  tell  you 
I  deny  the  premises." 

Mr.  Cleveland  smiled ;  he  began  to  real- 
ize that  he  was  arguing  with  a  man  who 
was  dancing  around  in  a  peck  measure,  and 
forever  coming  back  to  the  same  point. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  then  there  is  no 
argument  between  us,  I  suppose.  If  it  is 
honest  ignorance  on  your  part,  you  having 
done  all  you  could  for  enlightenment,  God 
will  forgive  you.  Of  course,  I  fail  to  see 


PARALLELS.  3 1  5 

how  you  can  pray  that  intemperance  may 
be  banished  from  our  land,  because  your 
actions  say  that  you  consider  that  question 
of  minor  importance  ;  there  are  others  be- 
fore which  it  must  give  way." 

To  all  this  talk  Lloyd  McLean  had  been 
an  amused  listener.  He  had  not  reached 
the  point  where  he  considered  his  own  con- 
victions very  strong  in  any  direction;  but 
he  offered  the  next  suggestion. 

"I  am  not  very  well  posted  in  biblical 
literature,  I  confess,  but  isn't  there  such  a 
thing  recognized,  even  by  Christians,  as  ex- 
pediency?" 

He  was  looking  directly  at  Mr.  Cleveland, 
and  that  gentleman  answered  him : 

"Undoubtedly,  there  is;  but  it  is  where 
there  is  no  moral  question  involved.  I  think 
you  will  fail  to  find  an  instance  in  the 
Bible  which  can  be  made  to  say :  '  This 
thing  is  right,  but  then  there  are  difficulties 
involved.  It  will  open  the  way  for  things 
which  are  not  right,  therefore  I  will  do 
what  is  wrong  in  order  that  this  other 
wrong  may  be  avoided.'  How  would  this 


3l6  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

method  of  reasoning  have  worked  in  the 
old  days?  Imagine  those  three  Hebrews 
being  interviewed  \)y  certain  of  their  friends 
after  the  image  had  been  set  up  on  the 
plains  of  Dura.  'Now,  Shadrach,'  says  one, 
'  I  sympathize  with  }rou  in  this  matter ;  you 
know  I  do.  I  don't  believe  in  bowing 
down  before  that  detestable  image  any  more 
than  you  do ;  but,  don't  you  see  the  time 
has  not  yet  come  for  us  to  assert  ourselves  ? 
We  have  enemies,  and  they  are  in  league 
witli  the  king ;  as  surely  as  you  insist  on 
defying  that  command,  you  will  be  thrown 
into  the  fiery  furnace.  Xor  will  that  be  all : 
the  whole  affair  will  incense  the  king 
against  our  people,  and  any  effort  that  we 
might  make  towards  religious  freedom  would 
be  set  back  for  years.  Don't  you  see  you 
would  do  no  good,  but  incalculable  harm  ? ' 
Can  not  you  hear  the  discussion  ?  I  can 
seem  to  see  the  whole  thing.  '  But,'  says 
Shadrach,  '  this  thing  is  a  sin ;  it  is  for- 
bidden by  our  God.'  '  Oh,  we  know  it  is 
a  sin ;  we  are  not  apologizing  for  it  for  a 
moment ;  we  are  just  trying  to  show  you 


PARALLELS. 


that  the  time  has  not  come  to  touch 
it,  and  that  an  effort  to  do  so  would  result 
only  in  harm.  What  we  advise  is,  that  you 
drop  down  on  your  knees  at  the  sound  of 
the  music,  and  appear  to  worship  with  the 
rest.  Our  God  looks  on  the  heart,  you  know, 
and  he  will  understand  that  it  is  just  a 
matter  of  expediency.'  " 

Mr.  Morrow  at  this  point  interrupted  the 
speaker. 

44  Do  you  really  profess,  Mr.  Cleveland, 
that  you  think  you  have  drawn  a  case  par- 
allel to  the  issues  of  which  we  were  speaking?  " 

"  Sufficiently  parallel  for  my  purpose  in 
illustration,"  Mr.  Cleveland  said,  pleasantly. 
"I  am  not  holding  any  argument  with  the 
honest  heathen,  who  believe  it  is  right  to 
bow  before  the  image  ;  it  is  only  with 
those  who  are  in  sympathy  with  Shadrach 
and  his  friends,  but  who  think  the  time 
has  not  yet  come  to  act,  that  I  am  argu- 
ing. Oh,  there  are  points  that  do  not 
match  the  figure,  of  course  ;  you  do  not 
need  to  be  reminded  that  such  illustrations 
are  not  perfect." 


3l8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  If  one  could  be  as  sure  of  results  as 
the  old  Hebrews  were,  it  might  do,"  Lloyd 
McLean  said,  musingly. 

Mr.  Cleveland    turned    to  him. 

"  They  were    not    certain,  my   friend." 

"Not?  I  told  you  I  was  not  very  well 
posted,  but  I  thought  they  were." 

"  Not  at  all ;  one  of  the  grandest  reaches 
of  human  faith  shines  forth  in  their  *  but 
if  not.'  '  Our  God,  whom  we  serve,  is  able 
to  deliver  us  from  the  burning  fiery  fur- 
nace, .  .  .  but  if  not,  be  it  known  unto 
thee,  O  king,  that  we  will  not  serve  thy 
gods,  nor  worship  the  golden  image  which 
thou  hast  set  up.'  We  know  that  our  God 
is  able;  our  faith  takes  in  that  fact,  but 
if  this  is  not  his  will,  and  we  are  to  glorify 
him  by  defeat,  so  be  it ;  we  will  not  do 
wrong  to  save  ourselves  or  our  nation." 

Whereunto  this  argument  would  have 
tended  will  not  be  known,  for  at  this  point 
Miss  Wainwright,  who  had  been  called  from 
the  room  some  moments  before,  returned, 
and,  following  her,  was  John  Hartzell. 

There   was   almost    consternation    on    some 


PARALLELS.  319 

faces  when  the  man  who  shambled  in  after 
their  hostess  was  recognized.  For  what  pur- 
pose had  he  come  ?  Mr.  Cleveland  was  the 
first  to  recover  himself,  and  to  announce  that 
it  was  the  hour  for  opening  the  meeting, 
and  Lloyd  McLean,  having  an  open  hymn- 
book  passed  promptly  to  him,  with  a  finger 
pointing  to  the  number,  at  once  began,  to 
sing. 

It  was  a  meeting  to  remember,  yet  the 
thing  which  made  it  especially  memorable  was 
what  seemed  to  the  listeners  a  mistake. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Morrow,  when  the 
conversation  as  to  wa}-s  of  working  for 
temperance  had  become  somewhat  general, 
"  I  think  that  our  hope  rests  with  the  young. 
We  have  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  and 
money  on  hopeless  cases.  We  ought  to  turn 
our  attention  almost  exclusively  to  our  young 
men,  and  save  them;  save  them  before  they 
are  in  apparent  danger.  It  is  only  occasion- 
ally that  a  man  who  has  become  an  habitul 
drunkard  reforms." 

Everybody  instantly  thought  of  John  Hart- 
zell,  and  everybody  wished  that  Mr.  Morrow 


32O  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

would  not  speak  such  words  as  these. 
They  might  be  sadly  true ;  they  were  cer- 
tainly sadly  out  of  place.  Why  couldn't  the 
mail  think  that  perhaps  he  was  stabbing  a 
lately  formed  resolve  in  the  breast  of  one 
of  these  "  hopeless  ones  ?  " 

Mr.  Cleveland  glanced  in  John's  direction. 
His  head  was  drooping,  and  his  whole  atti- 
tude said :  "  Yes,  I  am  one  of  them ;  I 
know  that  my  case  is  hopeless." 

"Brother  Morrow"  —  it  was  Mr.  Cleve- 
land's voice  —  "I  beg  your  pardon  for  in- 
terrupting, but  I  want  to  challenge  what 
that  seems  to  say.  I  know  you  do  not 
mean  to  limit  the  power  of  God,  yet  we 
must  be  careful  how  we  seem  to  do  it. 
There  have  been  many  cases,  which  men 
call  hopeless,  whom  God  has  saved.  We 
ehould  not  have  had  a  John  B.  Gough  if 
somebody  had  not  worked,  and  prayed,  and 
waited,  and  tried  again  and  again.  Look  at 
Durant,  the  temperance  worker.  He  was 
one  of  the  hopeless  drunkards.  He  heard  a 
man  say  of  him :  '  That  fellow  would  be 
hardly  worth  saving,  if  it  could  be  done, 


PARALLELS.  321 

and  it  can't.'  I  tell  you,  we  talk  too  much 
about  hard  cases,  and  hopeless  cases,  unless 
we  mean  on  the  human  side.  God  is  su- 
preme in  power,  and  the  man  who  is  willing 
to  be  saved,  can  bey  no  matter  how  low  he 
has  fallen." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  growing  eager  as  he 
talked.  He  wanted  John  Hartzell,  and  John 
Hartzell's  wife,  and  John  Hartzell's  sister,  to 
take  in  the  strength  of  this  thought :  "  No 
man  can  fall  so  low  that  I  can  not  pray 
and  work  hopefully  for  him ;  because  he 
may  be  one  who  is  to  show  us  the  power 
of  God  in  the  world,  mighty  to  save,  as 
mighty  to-day  as  it  ever  was." 

He  looked  over  at  Kate  as  he  spoke. 
She  had  grasped  the  thought  in  its  fullness; 
it  could  be  Keen  in  her  face.  Her  eyes 
were  shining  like  stars. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ONE  OF  THE   HOPELESS   CASES. 

I 

SHE  came  over  to  him  the  moment  the 
meeting  closed,  her  eyes  still  shining, 
her  voice  tremulous  with  suppressed  feeling. 

"Mr.  Cleveland,  do  you  mean  all  that 
you  seemed  to  say?  Do  you  think  no  one 
is  hopeless  utterly  ?  " 

"I  believe  it  from  my  soul  —  all  that  I 
said,  and  all  that  I  seemed  to  say.  I  be- 
lieve that  we  have  no  right  to  single  out 
any  human  being,  and  say  of  him,  '  This  is 
a  hopeless  case.'  We  recognize  the  folly  of 
such  judgments  even  while  we  speak,  and 
are  apt  to  qualify  our.  words  by  adding 
'humanly  speaking,  it  is  hopeless.'  Humanly 
speaking,  all  cases  are  hopeless;  but  in  the 
sight  of  God  those  may  be  near  the  Rock 
who  seem  to  us  the  most  hopeless.  So, 
322 


ONE  OF  THE  HOPELESS  CASES.      323 

Miss  Hartzell,  don't  you  allow  yourself  for 
one  moment  to  limit  the  power  and  the  grace 
of  a  Saviour.  Remember  he  is  'mighty  to 
save.' " 

He  was  thinking  all  the  time  of  John 
Hartzell.  He  had  been  thinking  of  him  all 
the  evening,  praying  for  him,  planning  for 
him.  That  man  hopeless,  with  his  shapely 
head,  which  told  of  dormant  brain  power ! 
Young  still,  and  strong  physically ;  what 
folly  to  think  of  him  as  hopeless ! 

"Well,  then,"  said  Kate,  her  voice  eager, 
"I  claim  you;  I  ask  you  to  pray  in  faith 
and  in  hope  for  my  father.  Will  you,?" 

For  her  father?  Old  Joe  Hartzell,  broken 
in  body  and  in  mind,  shattered  beyond 
hope  of  recovery,  apparently.  He  had  not 
thought  of  the  father.  All  his  plans  had 
been  centred  on  the  son.  Would  his  logic 
fit  that  weak,  gray-haired  old  man  who  had 
been  drinking  steadily  for  so  many  years? 
The  daughter  was  watching  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  firmly,  "  I  will  pray  for 
him." 

He  did  not  say  with  what    degree  of  faith. 


324  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  When  you  said,  *  No  man  can  fall  so 
low  that  I  cannot  pray,  and  work,  hope- 
fully for  him,  because  he  may  be  one  who 
is  to  show  us  the  power  of  God  in  the 
world,'  I  thought  at  once  of  father,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  you  must  mean  him.  He  has 
fallen  very  low.  I  want  to  make  a  confes- 
sion, Mr.  Cleveland;  he  has  seemed  hopeless 
to  me.  In  all  my  recent  plans  and  efforts, 
I  find  I  have  meant  John,  and  not  father. 
I  have  looked  upon  him  as  one  who  was 
impossible  even  for  God  to  save.  It  looks 
dreadful  to  me,  to-night,  that  I  ever  could 
have  thought  so.  I  thank  you  for  your 
words,  more  than  I  can  express;  they  have 
opened  my  eyes ;  I  will  never  put  him 
aside  as  hopeless  again.  But  I  said  to  my- 
self that  it  must  be  such  as  you,  who  had 
always  honored  God  with  strong  faith, 
whose  prayers  he  would  hear.  I  want  you 
to  pray  for  my  father." 

As  she  turned  away,  Mr.  Cleveland  said 
to  himself  that  he  would  go  home  and  go 
on  his  knees,  and  ask  God  for  faith  enough 
to  bring  old  Joe  Hartzell  to  the  One  who 


ONE  OF  THE    HOPELESS    CASES.  325 

was  mighty  to  save.  He  would  not  say  to 
the  daughter,  now,  that  he,  too,  it  seemed, 
was  limiting  that  mighty  power. 

Kate  laid  her  hand  ou  Miss  Wainwright's 
arm : 

"Will   3'ou   pray   for   my   father?" 

This   was  all   she    said. 

"For  your  father?"  said  Miss  Wainwright, 
startled ;  "  I  thought  it  was  for  your 
brother." 

"It  is  both  of  them.  You  will  not  leave 
father  out?  Say  you  will  not,  Miss  Wain- 
wright, because  I  have  done  it ;  I  have  felt 
until  to-night  that  he  was  almost  hopeless." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  "I  will 
try.  I  don't  know  your  father.  I  shall 
have  to  find  him  out,  and  do  for  him,  if 
I  take  him.  I  can't  pray  for  a  person  at 
arm's  length  —  never  could  —  unless  some- 
thing beyond  my  reach  kept  us  apart.  We 
will  do  our  best.  Working  and  praying  go 
together.  And  that  reminds  me :  did  you 
mean  you  had  gone  down  there  to  live  alto- 
gether? How  do  you  manage  it?  There 
can't  be  much  money  coming  in." 


326  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  I  have  a  trade,"  said  Kate,  with  falter- 
ing lips.  She  was  being  brought  back  sud- 
denly to  the  hard  realities  of  the  life  she 
had  assumed.  "I  have  been  taught  the 
dressmaker's  trade.  I  thought  if,  after 
awhile,  I  could  get  some  work  to  do,  it 
would  help." 

Miss  Wainwright  nodded,  a  gleam  of  light 
in  her  gray  eyes. 

"  Just  so,''  she  said ;  "  things  are  bound 
to  match  in  this  world  a  great  deal  better 
than  you  have  any  idea  of,  when  you  begin 
to  bungle  at  them.  I  was  thinking  of  that 
poor  mother  and  the  children  she  has  left. 
They  need  clothes  of  all  sorts  —  dresses,  and 
everything  else  —  and  I  dare  say  there  are 
plenty  of  others  who  do.  I'm  not  worth 
much  at  sewing;  never  was;  I  can't  sit 
still  long  enough  to  accomplish  anything.  But 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  can  do  —  pay  other 
people  for  their  work.  We'll  have  a  part- 
nership ;  I'll  furnish  material,  and  pay  for 
the  work ;  you  do  the  work,  and  some  of 
those  poor  things  will  do  the  wearing.  I 
begin  to  see  daylight." 


ONE  OF    THE    HOPELESS    CASES.  327 

Kate  could  only  smile  in  answer.  She 
would  not  have  trusted  her  voice  just  then. 
Miss  Wain  Wright's  ways  of  working  were 
peculiar,  certainly. 

Meantime,  the  other  workers  in  this  drama 
of  life  were  in  the  usual  state  of  uncon- 
sciousness as  to  how  they  were  to  fit  in. 
To  Holly  Copeland  the  evening  began  in 
disappointment.  You  will  possibly  .remember 
that  he  was  to  have  accompanied  Mildred 
to  the  temperance  prayer  meeting.  He  came 
to  her  with  troubled  face  a  little  before 
the  hour  of  meeting.  So  sorry  he  was  — 
and  face  and  voice  showed  this  as  well  as 
words  —  father  had  been  sent  for  to  go  out 
of  town,  and  there  were  two  packages  of 
medicine,  with  directions,  both  of  which 
must  be  delivered  at  once,  and  the  people 
lived  as  far  away  from  Miss  Wainwright's 
as  they  well  could,  and  he  must  be  the 
messenger. 

Mildred  was  sympathetic.  Sorry  not  to 
have  his  company,  but  he  must  not  mind, 
since  he  had  so  important  a  duty  calling 
him  in  another  direction.  She  might  see 


328  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

some  of  her  friends  passing,  and  join  them; 
but  if  not,  it  was  all  right.  Miss  Wain- 
wright  would  see  that  it  was  an  excellent 
excuse  for  them  both. 

"What  is  that?"  said  Doctor  Copeland, 
from  his  office.  "  Were  you  going  to  Miss 
Wainwright's?  I  shall  drive  past  her  place 
in  about  twenty  minutes.  I  can  drop  you 
there,  and  call  for  you  on  my  return.  I 
shall  not  be  later  than  nine  o'clock." 

So  Mildred  and  the  doctor  rode  away  in 
comfort,  the  latter  well  pleased  with  his 
cheery  companion.  And  Holly  had  trudged 
away,  whistling,  to  keep  back  his  disappoint- 
ment. He  was  fond  of  Mildred ;  he  had 
liked  the  idea  of  being  her  escort,  and  he 
had  liked  the  idea  of  meeting  Kate  Hart- 
zell,  who  would  be  sure  to  be  at  the  prayer 
meeting.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it  now. 
This  long  walk  alone  must  be  taken. 

His  errands  were  faithfully  done,  and  he 
was  returning  from  them,  whistling  still. 
He  had  just  settled  in  his  mind  that  it 
would  not  be  polite  to  walk  down  to  Miss 
Wainwright's  for  Mildred,  when  his  father 


ONE  OF  THE  HOPELESS  CASES.      329 

had  promised  to  call  for  her,  since  it  was 
quite  too  late  to  think  of  making  attendance 
at  the  meeting  an  excuse  for  coming.  Prob- 
ably Mildred  would  rather  ride  than  walk 
with  a  little  boy  like  him.  He  was  just 
passing  Jim  Moxen's  saloon.  It  was  brightly 
lighted,  and  behind  the  closely-drawn  cur- 
tains came  sounds  of  loud  voices  and  coarse 
laughter. 

"  I  think  they  need  to  pray,"  said  Holly, 
to  himself,  in  indignation.  "I  wonder  if 
John  Hartzell  is  there  ?  That  is  the  saloon 
he  goes  to  most.  Awful  place !  I  don't 
know  what  poor  Kate  can  do.  I  wish  I 
were  a  man ;  I  know  that  I'd  find  a  way 
to  help,  seems  to  me." 

What  was    that? 

The  door  opened  suddenly,  a  flood  of  light 
streamed  out  on  the  dark  alley.  A  dark 
object  seemed  for  a  moment  to  swing  in 
the  air,  and  then  land  heavily  on  the  side- 
walk. At  the  same  instant  a  heavy  boot 
was  drawn  within  the  saloon,  and  the  door 
was  closed  again.  Holly  stopped  whistling. 
Something,  or  somebody,  had  beeu  kicked 


33O  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

out,  and  lay  there  in  the  gutter.  Could  it 
be  a  man?  He  came,  all  trembling  with 
indignation  and  excitement,  and  bent  over 
the  thing.  He  touched  it,  and  it  moved 
and  groaned  slightly.  Yes,  it  was  a  man. 
A  very  dim  light  from  a  street  lamp  on 
the  corner  below,  revealed  so  much  to  his 
earnest  gaze.  Whoever  it  was,  he  had  hit 
his  head  on  the  sharp  stones  of  the  side- 
walk, and  blood  was  trickling  down  his 
face.  Holly  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror. 
What  if  the  poor  fellow  should  die  out 
there  in  the  ditch?  The  street  was  unusually 
quiet.  He  was  surrounded  by  saloons. 
Should  he  dare  to  appeal  to  any  of  them 
for  help?  A  wagon  rattled  by.  He  knew 
the  whistle  of  the  driver. 

"  Jake  I  "  he  shouted ;  "  hello,  Jake  !  won't 
you  stop  and  help  me?  They  have  kicked 
a  m,an  out  of  Moxen's,  and  he  is  hurt." 

"  Kicked  a  man  out ! "  said  the  teamster 
in  astonishment,  stopping  his  horses  and 
getting  down  from  his  wagon.  *'  What  did 
they  do  that  for  ?  He  ain't  hurt,  is  he  ? 
Only  dead  drunk.  You  can't  hurt  a  drunk- 


ONE   OF   THE    HOPELESS    CASES.  33! 

ard  much  easier  than  you  can  a  log  of 
wood." 

"  His  face  is  bleeding,"  said  Holly,  "  and 
he  groaned  when  I  touched  him." 

Then  both  bent  over  the  prostrate  form. 
Jake,  with  eyes  more  accustomed  to  the 
darkness,  peered  steadily  for  a  moment, 
then  raised  himself  to  an  upright  position 
and  said : 

41  I'm  blessed  if  it  ain't  old  Joe  himself, 
come  to  this  at  last!  I  expected  it  afore 
now." 

"  Not  old  Joe  Hartzell !  you  don't  mean 
him?  " 

There  was  more  than  dismay  iu  Holly's 
voice.  It  had  an  undertone  of  genuine 
pain. 

"  It's  old  Joe  Hartzell,  as  sure  as  you 
live.  I'd  know  his  gray  head  in  a  darker 
night  than  this." 

Holly  actually  groaned.  What  would  Ksite 
do  now  ?  Then  he  thought  rapidly.  How 
could  he  help  her? 

"  If  it's  old  Joe,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  let's 
get  him  home.  I  know  where  he  lives  ; 


332  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Kate  will  want  him  brought  home,  I  am 
sure.  O  Jake,  you  will  help  me,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  Why,  land  ! "  said  Jake,  "  I  don't  know 
as  we  had  ought  to.  He  was  kicked  out, 
you  say.  This  is  a  case  for  the  police ; 
he  might  be  hurt  bad,  you  know,  and  we 
might  get  ourselves  into  a  muss.  I  ought 
to  be  at  home  this  minute  with  the  team." 

But  Holly  interrupted  him  with  eager- 
ness. 

"  Oh,  no,  Jake ;  don't  let  us  have  him 
taken  to  the  lockup.  It  isn't  so  very  far 
to  where  he  lives ;  I  know  his  sister,  and 
she  is  a  nice  girl ;  a  grand,  good  girl,  Jake. 
She  has  gone  home  to  live,  just  to  help 
them  and  try  to  reform  her  father." 

"  Reform  her  father ! "  echoed  Jake  with 
something  between  a  giggle  and  a  sneer ; 
"I'd  as  soon  undertake  to  reform  a  brandy 
flask." 

"You  don't  know,  Jake;  Kate  will  try, 
anyhow;  and  I  promised  to  help,  and  I 
know  she  would  want  him  brought  home ; 
you  see,  she  is  the  kind  of  girl  who 


ONE   OF   THE    HOPELESS    CASES.  333 

would  be  sure  to  want  it,  and  father  will 
come  down  and  see  him,  if  he  is  hurt,  I 
know  he  will.  O  Jake,  do  let  us  lift  him 
into  your  wagon,  without  losing  any  more 
time.  I  will  pay  you ;  I  have  fifty  cents 
of  my  own.  I  was  saving  it  for  Christmas, 
but  I  don't  care  anything  about  Christmas 
if  we  can  only  get  this  poor  old  man  safe 
home." 

"  Sho ! "  said  Jake,  "  who  said  anything 
about  being  paid?  I  didn't.  If  I'd  do  it 
at  all,  I'd  do  it  for  decency's  sake  quicker 
than  I  would  for  fifty  cents,  I  can  tell 
you.  I'd  do  it  for  you,  anyhow,  I  s'pose, 
only  I  don't  know  about  it's  being  the  thing 
to  do." 

But  he  stooped  over  the  burden  and 
lifted  it  with  strong  arms,  unmindful  of 
the  groans,  or  of  the  fact  that  other  passers- 
by  had  stopped  curiously. 

"What's  the  matter?"  one  man  asked, 
pushing  among  the  crowd  of  boys  who  were 
gathering. 

"  O  Jake,"  said  Holly,  in  an  eager  whisper, 
"don't  let  him  stop  you." 


334  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  I  reckon  not,"  said  Jake ;  "  just  you 
step  into  that  there  saloon, .  Mister,  and  find 
out  what  is  the  matter  if  you  can.  I'm 
blessed  if  we  know ;  unless  they  got  sick 
of  some  of  their  customers  and  pitched  them 
out ;  it  looks  like  it." 

Whereupon  Jake's  heavy  wagon  rattled 
over  the  road,  and  old  Joe's  unconscious 
head  reposed  on  Holly  Copeland's  strong 
young  arm. 

Arrived  at  the  house  on  the  Flats,  all 
was  dark  and  still ;  but  a  wondering  neigh- 
bor lent  the  flame  of  one  sickly  lamp  with 
which  to  lighten  the  scene,  and  with  great 
effort  the  old  man  was  lifted  to  the  bed. 
Nothing  more  forlorn  and  poverty-stricken 
than  that  poor  bed  had  ever  met  Holly 
Copeland's  gaze.  He  did  not  know  what  a 
transformation  it  had  undergone  since  Kate 
took  possession  of  the  room.  He  could 
not  conceive  of  poverty  deeper  than  this 
which  surrounded  him  now.  He  looked  about 
him  with  a  sort  of  fascinated  terror,  taking  it 
all  iu  at  a  glance,  his  face  growing  almost 
manly  in  its  sternness. 


ONE   OF   THE    HOPELESS    CASES.  335 

"  The  idea  of  such  a  place  as  this  being 
Kate  Hartzell's  home !  This  means  rum," 
he  said,  turning  to  Jake,  and  giving  a  sig- 
nificant bend  of  his  head  which  was  meant 
to  cover  all  the  surroundings. 

"  Yes,"   said   Jake,   "  I  reckon   it  does." 

He  spoke  gravely  enough,  but  not  with 
the  tone  of  dismay  which  marked  Holly's 
speech.  He  was  more  used  to  scenes  like 
these  than  the  boy  was.  Moreover,  he  was 
one  of  the  victims  of  rum ;  he  had  a  bot- 
tle half-filled  with  brandy,  in  his  pocket  at 
this  moment,  and  though  he  had  not  the 
least  idea  of  ever  reaching  old  Joe's  state, 
he  could  not  help  remembering  that  the  two 
rooms  in  which  his  wife  and  three  children 
waited  for  him,  had  very  few  comforts ; 
and  the  difficulty  was  rum. 

"  It  is  mean  stuff,"  he  volunteered  at  last. 
"  I  wish  there  wasn't  a  drop  of  it  in  the 
world." 

"  You  do !  "  astonishment  on  Holly's  part. 

"Aye,  that  I  do.  I've  always  said  it.  I 
wish  to  the  land  I  had  never  tasted  it,  and 
couldn't  never  taste  it  again." 


336  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  And  yet  you  are   a  man  and  can  vote  ? " 

There  was  an  entire  temperance  lecture 
in  this  half  sentence.  Jake  felt  it ;  he  had 
heard  of  this  question  before,  and  he  was 
acquainted  with  people  who  talked  one  way 
and  voted  another;  but  the  boy  Holly  evi- 
dently was  not.  He  was  young  enough  still 
to  believe  that  what  people  actually  wished, 
they  worked  for.  Jake  turned  away,  a  half 
smile  on  his  face  at  the  "  cuteness "  of  the 
boy;  then  gave  his  attention  to  the  matter 
in  hand. 

"  The  question  is,  what  is  to  be  done 
here?  That  old  fellow  will  die,  unless  some- 
thing is  done  for  him  maybe,  though  I  don't 
believe  it.  He  has  too  much  whiskey  aboard. 
I  guess  that  is  about  all  that  ails  him ! " 

Holly   turned  in    distress. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do  next,"  he  said; 
"if  my  father  knew  it,  he  would  come  at 
once.  It  must  be  almost  time  for  Kate  to 
come.  She  would  know  what  to  do  I 
might  wait  until  she  came ;  only  there's 
mother.  I'll  tell  you,  Jake,  don't  you  pass 
our  house  going  home?  Would  you  mind 


ONE   OF  THE    HOPELESS    CASES.  337 

stopping  and  telling  mother  I'm  all  right, 
and  am  staying  with  a  sick  man  a  little 
while?  And  then  leave  word  for  father  to 
come  down  here  as  soon  as  he  gets  home. 
That  will  be  the  way.  You'll  do  it,  won't 
you,  Jake?" 

"And  what  will  you  do?  Stay  here  alone 
with  the  old  fellow?  How  will  you  like 
that?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Holly,  with  a  lofty  toss 
of  his  head.  "  I  sha'n't  mind.  Kate  will  be 
home  in  a  few  minutes,  I  guess." 

So  Jake  went  away,  telling  the  boy  with 
his  last  admiring  glance  that  he  was  "a 
brick." 

However,  Holly  was  not  left  long  alone. 
The  woman  who  had  lent  the  lamp  was 
the  one  whose  baby  had  been  laid  away  so 
recently.  She  had  tender  thoughts  of  the 
girl  who  had  come  from  this  house.  As 
soon  as  she  could  leave  the  youngest  little 
girl,  she  hastened  over  to  see  if  the  old 
man  was  really  hurt  or  "  only  drunk."  That 
was  the  way  she  put  it;  and  Holly,  indig- 
nant, said: 


338  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"I  should  think  that  that  would  be 
enough." 

The    woman   stared. 

"It  is  more  than  enough,"  she  said,  drear- 
ily, "  but  if  you  lived  on  the  Flats,  you 
would  get  used  to  that." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

DISCIPLINE. 

IT  was  Holly  who  met  the  family  at 
the  door.  Kate  was  the  first  to  climb 
the  high  step. 

"  You  are  not  to  be  frightened,"  Holly  said, 
holding  the  lamp  so  that  she  could  not  see 
into  the  room.  "  Your  father  has  had  a 
fall,  and  is  hurt  a  little  ;  I  think  not  much. 
I  brought  him  home,  and  have  sent  for  my 
father.  Do  you  know  whether  he  has  come 
home  yet  ?  He  was  to  call  for  Mildred 
Powers.  Had  he  done  so  when  you  came 
away  ?  " 

"  He  came  just  as  we  started,"  Kate  said. 
"O  Holly!" 

Then  she  went  forward  and  bent  over 
her  father.  He  was  lying  quietly  enough, 
but  the  blood  which  Holly's  assistant  had 
339 


34°  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

vainly  tried  to  stop  was  still  oozing  from 
the  wound  on  his  temple,  and  even  in  the 
dim  light  of  that  smoking  lamp  the  face 
was  gastly. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  said  John,  coming  forward. 
"What  is  the  matter?  How  did  he  get 
hurt?" 

"They  kicked  him  out,"  said  Holly,  the 
indignant  blood  rising  to  his  forehead  as  he 
thought  of  the  scene.  "I  saw  it  all.  They 
kicked  him  out  of  Moxen's  saloon.  Jake 
Evans  came  along  just  then  with  his  wagon, 
and  we  brought  him  home.  They  ought  to 
be  punished  for  it."  Holly's  sentences  were 
mixed,  but  his  listeners  knew  what  lie  meant. 

John's  face  was  dark ;  he  was  very  low 
down ;  he  had  suffered  all  manner  of  in- 
dignities ;  he  had  felt  long  ago  that  his 
self-respect  was  gone ;  but  to-night  he  felt 
that  to  have  an  old,  gray-haired  father 
kicked  from  one  of  the  worst  saloons  in  the 
town  was  something  to  remember. 

There  was  a  sound  of  feet  outside,  and 
a  quick  knock  at  the  half-closed  door. 
Holly  heard  his  father's  voice : 


DISCIPLINE.  341 

\ 

"  What's  to  pay  here  ?  Is  ray  boy  here  ? 
Why,  Holly,  how  is  this?  Kate,  good  even- 
ing; father  hurt?  Let  me  look  at  him!" 

He  pushed  rapidly  by  and  reached  the 
bed.  There  followed  a  careful  examination, 
and  short,  decisive  directions  to  one  and 
another  of  those  who  looked  on.  At  last 
the  doctor  turned  from  the  bed. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  serious  affair,  Kate.  His 
head  has  been  hurt.  It  is  hard  to  tell,  just 
now,  what  the  result  will  be.  I  suspect  we 
will  have  a  case  of  fever.  The  blow  is  not 
so  serious  but  he  might  rally  without  much 
trouble,  if  the  system  were  not  in  such  a 
reduced  condition;  but  as  it  is'* — there  he 
paused,  and  sighed.  No  need  to  remind  this 
girl,  with  her  wide-open,  sorrowful  eyes, 
what  it  was  that  had  so  reduced  her  father's 
system. 

A  few  more  directions  about  the  night,  a 
promise  to  look  in,  early  in  the  morning, 
and  then  the  doctor  turned  to  Holly : 

"  Now,  my  boy,  you  and  I  must  get 
home.  Your  mother  is  in  trouble  about 
you."  • 


342  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

The  boy  flushed  a  little  as  he  moved  to- 
ward the  door.  He  was  not  conscious  of 
having  done  anything  that  should  cause  a 
mother  anxiety.  Kate  came  to  the  door 
with  him,  and  held  the  light,  and  murmured, 
as  he  jumped  from  the  high  step : 

"  Holly,  how  you  have  helped  me  to-night ! 
You  are  keeping  your  promise." 

He  turned  and  smiled  back  on  her,  his 
face  bright.  He  would  help  her  all  he 
could  —  he  was  sure  of  that. 

Mrs.  Copeland  was  waiting  with  anxious 
face.  v 

"  What  is  all  this  ? "  she  asked,  the  mo- 
ment that  Holly  sprang  from  the  carriage. 
"  What  in  the  world  were  you  doing  on  the 
Flats?  I  did  not  know  you  ever  went  in 
that  part  of  the  town.  Here  it  is  nearly 
ten  o'clock,  and  I  alone,  waiting  to  be  in- 
terviewed by  a  wretched  teamster,  smelling 
of  whiskey,  to  be  told  that  you  are  up  on 
the  Flats  with  a  drunken  man  !  Holly,  what 
does  it  mean?" 

The  boy  wound  an  arm  caressingly  about 
his  mother's  neck. 


DISCIPLINE.  343 

"Don't  worry,  mother,"  he  safd.  "I'm 
all  right.  I  saw  a  loafer  kick  an  old  man 
out  of  his  saloon  door,  just  as  I  was  pass- 
ing. And  Jake  Evans  came  along  just  then, 
and  I  helped  him  carry  the  old  man  home, 
and  waited  until  father  came.  Jake  hadn't 
been  drinking  to-night,  mother;  he  was 
pretty  sober.  I  am  real  sorry  1  frightened 
you,  but  I  did  not  see  anything  else  to 
do." 

"Who  was  the  old  man?  How  did  you 
know  what  to  do,  or  where  to  go  ?  .  I  can- 
not understand  it.  I  thought  you  were  a 
little  boy." 

Holly  laughed,  glanced  at  his  shadow  in 
the  mirror,  and  drew  himself  up  half  an 
inch.  He  was  growing  taller. 

"I'm  getting  to  be  a  big  boy,"  he  said, 
and  he  drew  a  long  breath.  He  wished, 
just  then,  that  he  were  as  large  as  a  giant, 
and  had  power  to  sweep  the  rum-traffic  out 
of  the  world.  "Mother,  the  old  man  was 
Kate's  father.  He  is  almost  seventy  years 
old.  Think  of  kicking  him  out  on  the 
stones!  He  hurt  his  head.  Father  thinks 


344  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

he  will  be  very  sick;  perhaps,  will  die.  If 
he  does,  it  is  murder ! " 

His  mother  uttered  an  exclamation  divided 
between  dismay  and  disapprobation. 

"  I  suppose  the  poor  old  wretch  had  been 
drinking.  It  would  be  almost  a  blessing  to 
the  town  if  he  were  to  die.  "What  comfort 
do  you  suppose  such  fathers  can  be  to  any- 
body? So  that  is  the  way  you  became 
mixed  up  in  it!  I  shall  never  hear  the 
last  of  Kate  Hartzell,  I  am  afraid.  If  she 
mixes  you  in  with  her  low  associates,  I 
shall  never  forgive  her,  Holly." 

The  boy  turned  eager   eyes  on   his  mother. 

"I  will  not  mix  up  with  rum,  mother. 
You  need  riot  be  afraid.  I  hate  it,  and  so 
does  Kate.  It  is  she  who  has  helped  me 
to  hate  it.  If  you  could  have  seen  her 
to-night,  you  would  have  understood  what 
she  has  had  to  give  up  for  it.  I  don't 
wonder  that  she  hates  it  so.  Mother,  you 
never  saw  such  a  place  to  live.  And  rum 
made  it.  I  am  going  to  fight  rum  with 
all  my  might.  You  need  not  be  afraid 
for  me." 


DISCIPLINE.  345 

But  she  was  afraid.  She  went  to  bed 
with  a  troubled  heart.  She  told  the  doctor, 
when  he  came  in,  that  she  would  give 
almost  anything  if  Holly  had  never  seen  nor 
heard  of  Kate  Hartzell ;  that  he  was  suoh 
a  queer  boy,  and  Kate  had  somehow  gotten 
such  a  hold  on  him ;  and  now  she  had 
gone  back  among  that  set,  and  there  was 
no  telling  how  far  Holly  might  go  in  his 
romantic  scheme. 

"She  will  just  be  dragged  down,"  said 
the  mother,  "  and  if  she  gets  hold  of  Holly, 
I  shall  never  forgive  her  nor  myself." 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  the  doctor.  "  She 
doesn't  look  much  dragged  down  yet;  and 
the  place  is  five  times  more  decent  already 
than  it  was.  I  was  there  to  see  the  woman 
some  weeks  ago,  and  I  can  see  it  has 
greatly  changed  for  the  better  already.  The 
boy  must  see  the  evil  that  there  is  in  the 
world.  I  would  rather  he  would  see  the 
side  of  rum  which  shows  on  the  Flats  than 
that  which  shows  in  some  of  our  parlors." 

Yes,  Doctor  Copeland,  in  the  parlor  of  the 
Flemings,  for  instance,  where  your  one 


346  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

daughter  is  standing  beside  a  young  man 
whose  talk  is  growing  thick  because  he  has 
drank  so  much  home-made  wine.  But  the 
one  in  whom  she  is  most  interested  is  not 
there.  He  is  at  this  moment  in  one  of  the 
more  respectable  of  the  down-town  saloons, 
pouring  red-hot  brandy  down  his  throat. 
They  will  put  him  to  bed,  by  and  by,  for 
he  is  respectable,  and  can  pay  his  bill.  In 
this  saloon  they  do  not  kick  their  victims 
into  the  street ;  there  are  two  or  three 
grades  before  they  graduate  them  in  that 
manner.  To-morrow  the  respectable  young 
ladies  will  bow  to  Eben  Bruce,  and  say  to 
one  another  that  he  is  fine-looking.  And 
Holly  Copeland  will  suppose  him  to  be  a 
model  young  man.  Better  that  Holly  should 
get  his  lessons  on  rum  from  old  Joe  Hart- 
zell  than  from  such  as  he.  If  Mrs.  Cope- 
land  had  prophetic  eyes,  she  would  bitterly 
regret  the  day  that  her  Fanny  met  this 
respectable  young  man,  who  is  fascinating 
her,  and  would  have  no  regrets  to  spare 
for  the  time  spent  by  Holly  on  the  Flats. 
Then  began  work  for  Kate  Hartzell  such 


DISCIPLINE.  347 

as  she  had  not  planned.  Sore  work  it  was, 
trying  alike  to  nerves  and  to  pride.  She 
had  shouldered  her  heavy  cross  with  vigor. 
She  had  so  fully  taken  in  the  thought  of 
sacrifice,  and  toil,  and  privation,  and  victory, 
that  the  work  she  meant  to  do,  the  vigi- 
lance she  meant  to  use,  in  order  to  rescue 
this  brother  and  this  father  from  the  de- 
vourer,  had  actually  begun  to  look  almost 
inviting.  She  felt  herself  armed  for  the  con- 
flict. As  she  walked  home  from  the  prayer 
meeting  that  Saturday  evening  she  could 
give  little  attention  to  Lloyd  McLean's  kind 
efforts  to  draw  her  into  conversation,  so 
full  was  she  of  the  great  thoughts  and 
plans  born  of  the  hour.  In  fact,  she  had 
roused  him  instead  of  his  doing  that  benevo- 
lent thing  for  her.  She  had,  when  he  un- 
wittingly started  her  on  the  right  theme, 
talked  so  eagerly  and  well,  that,  as  he  bade 
her  good-night  at  the  door,  he  went  away, 
saying : 

"  Upon  my  word,  she  is  a  wide-awake 
girl ;  and  a  plucky  girl,  to  go  into  that  den 
to  live,  and  see  what  she  can  do.  She 


348  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

ought  to  succeed.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
she  would.  She  ought  to  have  help.  I'm 
half  resolved  to  throw  myself  into  this  thing 
heart  and  soul,  and  see  what  can  be  done." 

He  had  not  tarried  long  enough  to  see 
what  was  waiting  for  Kate  behind  that 
opening  door.  If  he  had,  it  might  have 
given  him  an  added  thrill  of  determination. 
For  a  young  and  able-bodied  man  it  must 
be  something  of  a  stimulus  to  think  of  old, 
trembling  limbs  and  white  hairs  being 
kicked  into  the  gutter.  For  even  though 
the  white  hairs  belong  to  a  drunkard,  they 
are  marks  of  age  and  the  swift-coming 
grave. 

It  is  one  thing  to  work  early  and  late; 
to  plan  how  a  room  shall  be  made  neat, 
and  a  supper  inviting  out  of  almost  noth- 
ing ;  to  think  out  and  work  out  ways  of 
circumventing  the  enemy ;  to  keep  up  heart 
and  hope  enough  for  an  utterly-discouraged 
and  deeply-burdened  woman  to  lean  upon; 
to  sew,  with  strong,  skilful  hand  at  honest 
work,  which  is  to  bring  honest  pay,  and 
help  to  show  the  watching  world  that  there 


DISCIPLINE.  349 

is  a  dignified  intention  to  carry  this  thing 
through,  and  support  one's  self  and  one's 
flesh  and  blood.  Kate  was  ready  for  all 
this.  It  is  another  thing  to  sit  day  after 
day,  and  night  after  night,  beside  a  worn- 
out  old  body,  from  which  the  living  part 
seems  to  have  gone  away,  leaving  utter 
darkness  behind  ;  to  feed  the  almost  breath- 
less body,  at  intervals,  with  sips  of  food 
which  charity  has  provided ;  to  give,  occa- 
sionalty,  a  fresh  pillow,  provided  by  charity ; 
to  shade  a  lamp,  which  is  decent  because 
charity  has  seen  to  it  that  a  decent  one 
came  into  the  room ;  to  watch  and  wait, 
with  folded  hands,  and  yet  with  hands 
which  must  remain  there,  folded,  ready  for 
emergencies.  And  to  feel  almost  certain 
that  the  emergency  will  be,  perhaps,  a  gasp 
and  a  struggle,  and  then  utter  and  eter- 
nal silence. 

This  was  Kate  Hartzell's  work ;  and  for 
this  she  was  not  prepared.  She  felt  like  a 
caged  lion.  She  felt,  at  times,  as  though 
she  must  go  out  and  scream!  Anything  to 
get  away  from  that  bed,  made  neat  by 


3$O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

other  help  than  hers ;  kept  neat,  because 
Miss  Wainwright,  Mr.  Cleveland,  and  his 
mother,  and  two  or  three  others,  were  char- 
itable. The  very  oranges,  provided  by  the 
thoughtfulness  of  Mildred  Powers,  at  times 
so  chafed  her  poor,  overwrought  nerves,  that 
it  seemed  to  her  she  must  throw  them 
somewhere  out  of  sight. 

Yet,  sit  there  she  must,  and  watch  and 
wait.  Only  relieved  for  a  few  hours  at  a 
time  by  the  sister-in-law,  who  was  too  much 
worn  with  insufficient  food  and  a  broken 
heart  to  be  worth  much  as  a  watcher.  As 
for  John,  he  was  at  work,  and  Mr.  Cleve- 
land, and  Lloyd  McLean,  and  Miss  Hunter, 
and  some  others  about  whom  Kate  did  not 
know  so  much,  were  doing  her  watching  for 
her.  So  fur,  they  were  doing  it  well.  John 
came  home  each  night,  sober,  grave,  ready 
to  sit  for  a  while  by  his  father,  and  let 
Kate  rest.  But  even  this  respite  she  must 
not  take." 

"  I  don't  dare  to  trust  him,"  would  Mr. 
Cleveland  sa}%  shaking  his  head ;  "  lie  has 
been  working  hard,  and  he  is  keeping  up  a 


DISCIPLINE.  351 

fierce  struggle  during  these  days  —  fiercer 
than  you  or  I  can  imagine.  He  needs  his 
long  night's  quiet  sleep,  or  the  battle  will 
go  against  him." 

And  so,  because  John  Hartzell  had  chosen 
to  throw  away  his  manhood,  it  could  not 
be  trusted  during  this  strain,  and  the  frail 
girl  must  come  to  the  rescue  and  let  him 
sleep.  There  were  times  when  Kate  curled 
her  lip  over  it  all,  and  said  to  herself  that 
a  man  who  had  no  more  manhood  than 
that,  ought  to  go  down.  But  this  she  did 
not  mean. 

Mrs.  John  Hartzell's  life  was  certainly 
passing  more  quietly,  during  these  days,  than 
it  had  for  years.  She  kept  the  small  room 
neat,  and  cooked  as  good  food  as  she  could, 
with  the  necessity  upon  them  of  keeping 
the  fire  low,  because  of  the  sick  man.  She 
made  earnest  efforts  to  have  the  dishes  she 
prepared  for  Kate  look  inviting.  But  poor 
Kate  was  getting  where  she  could  not  touch 
them.  She  utterly  loathed  the  bread  of 
charity.  Particularly  repugnant  to  her  were 
the  broths,  and  jellies,  and  custards,  that 


352  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

came  from  Mrs.  Copeland's  well-stocked  home. 
Mrs.  Copeland  had  relented  to  the  degree 
that  she  supposed  the  poor  wretch  must 
have  something  palatable  to  eat ;  so  she  con- 
stantly sent  it,  but  she  never  came  to  look 
in  on  poor  Kate,  nor  sent  her  a  message; 
and  Kate,  worn  as  she  was  with  watching 
and  excitement,  resented  this  treatment  as 
she  had  not  in  the  days  when  it  was  first 
offered.  Felt  insulted — felt  that  she  would 
rather  starve  than  to  eat  food  of  that 
woman's  providing.  Indeed,  during  this  hard 
time,  I  am  not  sure  but  the  only  warm 
corner  of  Kate's  heart  was  kept  for  the  boy 
Holly.  His  visits  were  rare — his  mother 
took  care  of  that.  She  would  not  have  him 
going  to  the  Flats  under  any  pretext  what- 
ever ;  and  so,  save  on  those  rare  occasions 
when  the  doctor  called  for  his  company 
to  hold  the  horse  or  to  do  the  errands, 
Kate  saw  none  of  him.  Yet  hardly  a  day 
passed  in  which  she  did  not  get  some  simple 
boyish  reminder  of  his  sympathy.  Often  it 
was  an  apple,  which  she  could  not  eat ; 
sometimes  it  was  a  choice  confection,  which 


\ 

QISCIPLINE.  353 

the  doctor  would  produce  with  an  amused 
smile  and  a  —  "  Kate,  here  is  something  that 
Holly  was  sure  you  would  like."  Sometimes 
it  was  a  hurriedly  penciled  note  —  "Kate,  I 
don't  forget.  I  am  watching  for  chances  to 
help."  One  night  it  was  —  "O  Kate,  I 
know  he  is  very  bad.  Father  says  so. 
But  I  wouldn't  give  up  hoping.  I  think  he 
will  speak  to  you  again,  and  maybe  tell  you 
some  good  news.  I  dreamed  last  night  that 
he  did.  Kate,  I  have  been  praying  for  him, 
and  maybe  my  dream  was  an  answer." 
Kate  cried  a  little  over  that  letter.  She 
had  given  up  hoping  that  the  living  death 
on  the  bed  would  ever  use  human  speech 
again.  She  saw  doubt  grow  stronger  in  the 
doctor's  eyes.  It  was  a  terrible  strain  to 
the  girl  to  live  so  constantly  in  the  presence 
of  death,  and  feel  that  it  was  to  engulf 
her  father,  and  that  he  was  not  ready  for 
the  plunge.  Very  few  realized  through  what 
surges  of  feeling  she  was  passing.  Least  of 
all,  perhaps,  did  the  girl  herself  realize  it. 
"  I  wish  you  would  drink  a  little  of  it, 
Kate ;  you  haven't  eaten  a  thing  to-day. 


354  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

How   long   can   }*ou   keep   up   in    this  way?" 

It  was  Mrs.  Hartzell  who  spoke,  in  a 
gentle,  pleading  tone ;  and  the  china  bowl 
which  she  held  had  an  appetizing  odor  about 
it.  Kate  knew  the  china.  It  was  Mrs.  Cope- 
land's. 

"I  can't  eat,"  she  said  sharp!}',  "and  the 
sooner  I  break  down  and  am  done  with  all 
this,  the  better  it  will  be  for  me." 

Then  both  turned  as  a  shadow  darkened 
the  window,  and  saw  Mr.  Cleveland.  Kate's 
face  was  crimson.  She  was  ashamed  of  her 
words,  yet  had  seemed  to  have  no  power  to 
control  them.  He  took  no  notice — was  as 
one  who  had  not  heard.  He  had  come  with 
a  head-rest,  which  the  doctor  had  advised 
for  the  sick  man;  and  he  helped  adjust  it 
with  few  words,  and  went  his  way.  But 
that  night,  just  at  dark,  Miss  Wainwright's 
carriage  drove  into  the  Flats.  It  was  unladen 
of  various  things  for  the  comfort  of  the 
household ;  then  both  Miss  Wainwright  and 
Miss  Hunter  came  into  the  room. 

"  Child,"  said  the  former,  nodding  her 
head  toward  Miss  Hunter  as  she  spoke,  but 


DISCIPLINE.  355 

looking  at  Kate,  "  she  has  come  to  stay  all 
night.  She  is  a  better  nurse  than  you  are ; 
and  you  are  to  go  home  with  me  and  go 
to  bed." 

To  Kate's  eager  protest  she  returned  no 
other  answer  than  to  say  to  Mrs.  John 
Hartzell :  "Where  is  her  bonnet?  Put  it  on 
her."  Which  Mrs/ Hartzell  did. 

An  hour  later  poor,  tired  Kate  sat  among 
the  cushions  of  a  luxurious  chair,  and  sipped 
creamy  milk,  and  ate  crumbs  of  biscuit. 
Mr.  Cleveland  sat  at  a  table  in  the  corner. 
He  had  been  looking  over  and  arranging 
certain  business  papers  for  Miss  Wainwright. 
As  he  now  arose  and  handed  them  to  that 
lady  he  said  : 

"  These  are  the  ones  you  need  to  sign  ; 
do  it  now,  please,  and  I  will  take  them 
with  me." 

While  he  waited,  he  said  to  Kate,  speak- 
ing low  : 

"  I  am  keeping  my  contract  with  you. 
But  you  are  not  satisfied  with  God's  way 
of  doing  it,  are  you?  You  want  your  own." 

Then   he    went    awav. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

STORM  AND  CALM. 

A  FIERCE  November  wind  was  blowing, 
which  made  the  gentlemen  who  were 
hurrying  through  the  streets  of  Chicago, 
button  their  overcoats  about  them.  "  Cold 
enough  for  January,"  said  one  and  another, 
bowing  hurriedly  as  they  passed,  though 
what  they  meant  by  that  expression  is  doubt- 
ful, as  everybody  knows  that  it  can  be  as 
cold  in  Chicago  in  November  as  January. 

But  the  wind  was  certainly  piercing.  Al- 
together it  was  not  such  a  night  as  would 
be  likely  to  find  one  loitering  on  the  street 
in  contemplative  mood  over  water  which 
rolled  sluggishly  below,  impeded  by  gather- 
ing films  of  ice.  So  when  Mr.  Durant 
hurrying  home  from  detentions,  after  a  late 
meeting,  saw  a  young  man  thus  standing, 
356 


STORM    AND    CALM.  357 

looking  down  into  the  black  water,  the  very 
attitude  arrested  his  attention.  A  street 
lamp  was  near  at  hand,  and  though  the 
man,  intent  on  whatever  held  his  eyes,  did 
not  turn  as  Mr.  Durant  drew  nearer,  the 
light  fell  on  his  side  face  in  such  a  way 
as  to  give  a  fair  view  and  the  expression 
of  it  was  startling  to  a  man  who  had  spent 
some  years  in  the  earnest  study  of  faces, 
with  a  view  to  helping  their  owners  in 
emergencies. 

At  first  he  passed,  then  hesitated,  looked 
back,  and  finally  retraced  his  steps,  and  laid 
a  firm,  kind  hand  on  the  stranger's  shoul- 
der. 

"Young  man,  that  is  rather  a  dark  pros- 
pect on  such  a  night  as  this.  What  do 
you  find  in  it  that  interests  you  so?" 

u  That  is  my  business,"  muttered  the  man, 
and  he  tried  to  shake  off  the  firm  hand. 
His  voice  was  low,  but  had  a  cadence  of 
sullenness  in  it,  such  as  is  born  generally 
both  of  despair  and  resolve. 

*'  It  is  my  business,  too,"  said  Mr.  Du- 
rant, speaking  with  cheerful  promptness.  "  I 


358  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

was  sent  to  ask  you  what  was  the  trouble, 
and  how  I  could  help  you." 

The  man  seemed  to  be  arrested  by  this 
word,  despite  a  determination  not  to  be. 
He  turned  and  gave  Mr.  Durant  the  benefit 
of  a  full  view  of  his  fierce,  dark  face. 

"Who   sent  you?"    he   asked. 

The   answer   was  given    unhesitatingly : 

"A  friend  of  yours,  who  is  more  interested 
in  you  than  you  have  any  idea  of.  He 
will  be  glad  to  help  you  in  any  way  that 
you  need  help;  and  I  am  glad  to  be  his 
messenger.  Now,  what  can  I  do  for  you? 
I  see  you  are  in  trouble." 

Part  of  the  trouble  he  suspected,  and  had, 
of  course,  suspected  from  the  first.  The  man 
had  been  drinking;  face  and  breath  indicated 
this ;  but  he  was  not  exactly  intoxicated, 
and  there  was  more  in  his  face  than  the 
passing  whim  of  a  drunken  man.  Mr.  Du- 
rant, who  had  been  perilously  near  to  such 
places,  could  have  given  unhesitating  testi- 
mony to  the  belief  that  the  dark  water 
held  the  stranger's  gaze,  because  it  said  to 
him  that  one  plunge  in  the  night  and  the 


STORM    AND    CALM.  359 

darkness,  and  all  this  certainty  of  trouble 
would  be  over.  There  is  a  certain  form  of 
cowardice  well  known  to  drinking  men, 
which  shrinks  only  from  the  known,  and  is 
willing  to  plunge  desperately  and  hopelessly 
into  the  darkness  of  the  future  world,  to 
get  rid  of  the  miseries  of  to-day. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  giving  a  gentle  pressure 
to  the  arm  on  which  his  hand  rested,  "let 
us  walk  along  out  of  this  wind ;  it  sweeps 
around  the  corner  fiercely.  You  can  tell 
me,  as  we  go,  what  it  is  you  need." 

**  You  can  not  help  me,"  the  man  said ; 
"  there  is  no  help  for  me  in  this  world." 
Nevertheless,  he  turned  and  walked  with  the 
unknown  friend ;  impelled  apparently,  by 
the  stronger  will  against  his  judgment,  or  at 
least,  his  inclination. 

"  That  is  a  mistake,"  was  the  cheery  an- 
swer ;  "  I  told  you  you  had  a  friend  who 
was  willing  to  help  you,  no  matter  what 
the  circumstances.  I  have  also  to  tell  you 
that  he  has  the  power  to  help.  But  you 
must  confide  in  him,  3*011  know." 

It   was  a    strange  walk.     Mr.  Durant,  who 


360  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

had  taken  many  strange  ones  during  the 
latter  years  of  his  life,  felt  that  none  would 
exceed  this.  He  seemed  to  have  a  certain 
degree  of  power  over  this  young  man, 
enough  to  move  him  forward  at  least;  and 
he,  on  his  part,  seemed  impelled  by  a  force 
outside  of  himself,  to  go  with  this  man  and 
watch  him,  and  shield  him  from  something, 
or  some  one,  himself  probably  ;  since  himself, 
in  this  mood,  at  least,  could  be  his  worst 
enemy.  But  he  had  no  idea  where  to  take 
him,  nor  what  to-  do  next.  If  the  man 
would  only  make  some  explanation  of  the 
fierce  resolve  in  his  face ! 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  alon6,"  the 
stranger  said,  at  last,  stopping  in  the  street, 
trying  to  draw  away  his  arm,  making  an 
effort  to  turn  back.  "What  business  have 
you  to  take  hold  of  me  in  this  way  and 
and  lead  me  along?  I  had  about  decided 
it  when  you  interfered." 

"  I  know  you  had ;  and  it  is  the  worst 
decision  you  ever  made  in  your  life ;  and 
you  know  you  have  made  a  great  many.  I 
came  just  in  time  to  save  you.  I  was  sent, 


STORM   AND    CALM.  361 

I  tell  you ;  and  you  won't  confide  in  a 
friend  who  is  willing  and  able  to  help  you 
out." 

Two  fashionably  dressed  young  men  were 
nearing  them,  walking  with  unsteady  steps 
and  talking  loud,  their  voices  thick  and 
their  laughter  silly  and  meaningless;  victims 
they  were  to  the  general  curse.  They  were 
dressed  as  though  they  might  very  recently 
have  come  from  some  fashionable  gathering, 
and  the  probabilities  were  strong  that  they 
had  but  lately  left  the  petted  darling  of 
some  sheltered  home,  to  indulge  outside 
tastes  which  had  been  roused  anew  in  some 
fashionable  social  gathering. 

"  Halloo,"  snid  one,  speaking  thickly, 
"here's  Airedale.  What's  up,  old  fellow? 
Look  as  though  you  had  met  a  ghost,  and 
it  had  you  by  the  buttonhole." 

Then  they  passed,  the  air  filled  with  their 
vapid"  laughter.  But  Mr.  Durant  almost 
stopped  in  the  street.  He  felt  a  shock  like 
that  from  an  electric  battery  in  his  veins. 

Airedale,  that  uncommon  name ;  the  one 
he  had  especially  laid  away  iu  his  memory. 


362  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Three  days  he  had  been  in  Chicago,  and 
three  hours  at  least  he  had  given  to  hunt- 
ing for  a  young  man  who  bore  that  name ; 
unable,  so  far,  to  get  any  clue  to  his 
whereabouts.  He  had  left  the  firm  which 
had  originally  employed  him,  and  gone,  no 
one  in  that  establishment  seemed  to  know 
whither. 

Was  this  the  object  of  his  search?  If 
so,  he  could  well  account  for  the  impelling 
power  which  said  4'Hcld  this  man;  don't 
let  him  escape  your  sympathy  and  your 
help."  For  since  the  name  was  written  in 
his  notebook,  it  had  been  added  to  his 
prayer,  until  he  began  to  feel  within  him 
an  intense  desire  to  find  the  man,  and  to 
help  him,  if  he  needed  help.  This  young 
man,  whom  he  was  drawing  on  by  sheer 
force  of  will,  was  certainly  in  need  of  help; 
was  certainly  in  great  and  imminent  danger, 
from  himself,  if  from  no  one  else.  "Could 
he  be  the  Airedale  of  his  prayers?  What 
did  the  Lord  want  him  to  do  here  and  now, 
if  this  were  so? 

He     hesitated,     he     shrank     from     it;     it 


STORM    AND    CALM.  363 

seemed  a  breach  of  trust,  and  jret  it  forced 
itself  upon  him  as  the  thing  to  do.  In  some 
way  he  must  win  this  ma'n's  confidence. 

"  Airedale,"  he  said,  repeating  the  name 
as  though  he  had  not  a  doubt  of  the  per- 

I 

son  to  whom  it  belonged,  "  you  think  I  am 
a  stranger;  that  I  do  not  know  anything 
about  you.  You  are  mistaken.  I  know  two 
or  three  things  about  you,  beside  the  fact 
that  you  are  just  now  sorely  in  need  of  a 
friend.  I  will  tell  you  of  some  one  else 
whom  I  know,  and  then  you  may  decide  to 
what  extent  you  can  trust  me.  I  know 
Mildred  Powers." 

He  could  feel  the  start,  and  the  tremor 
which  ran  through  the  man's  frame;  yet  he 
replied  quickly  and  fiercely: 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  about 
her." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  that,  my  friend.  You 
are  disgracing  her  friendship,  and  you  know 
it.  Still  there  is  a  chance  to  retrieve  the 
past,  and  live  so  that  you  will  not  be 
ashamed  to  hear  the  name  of  a  good 
woman,  mentioned." 


364  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"No,  there  isn't.  You  don't  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  I've  gone  beyond 
the  chance." 

"  No,  you  haven't.  I  know  just  what  I 
am  talking  about,  and  I  know  you  are 
talking  nonsense.  I  tell  you  there  is  a 
chance  to  win  the  respect  of  all  who  now 
despise  you.  I  am  not  talking  in  the  dark. 
I  don't  care  what  your  past  is.  I  bring 
you  offers  of  help,  powerful  enough  to  blot 
out  the  past." 

The  poor,  confused  brain  of  the  only  half- 
sober  man  was  impressed  in  spite  appar- 
ently of  his  effort  to  struggle  against  the 
impression.  During  this  time,  they  had  been 
walking  somewhat  rapidly ;  the  fierceness  of 
the  wind  naturally  hastened  the  steps  of  all 
walkers  that  evening,  and  Mr.  Durant's 
force  of  character  hastened  the  steps  of  his 
faltering  companion.  They  were  nearing  the 
former's  boarding-house. 

"  Come  up  into  my  room,"  Mr.  Durant 
said,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  familiar  cor- 
ner. "  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  to  tell  you 
something,  just  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to 


STORM    AND    CALM.  365 

hear  it.  You  need  not  be  afraid.  I  will 
see  that  you  are  shielded  from  observation 
if  you  choose.  I  assure  you  that  you  may 
trust  me."  For  the  man  was  holding  back, 
trying  to  withdraw  his  arm. 

"It  is  too  cold  to  walk  the  streets,  and 
I  have  something  of  importance  to  say  to 
you.  Come,  your  teeth  are  chattering  now, 
as  if  you  had  an  ague  fit;  you  are  chilled 
through.  My  room  is  warm,  and  there  is 
nobody  in  it.  I  have  a  pass-key." 

And  with  one  firm  hand  still  on  the  arm 
of  the  half-crazed  young  man,  he  contrived 
to  unlock  the  door,  and  draw  his  compan- 
ion within  the  hall,  apparently  more  by 
force  of  will  than  by  physical  effort,  though 
in  going  up-stairs  the  latter  was  needed. 
The  man  leaned  heavily  against  his  guide, 
and  groaned  as  if  in  pain.  By  the  time  his 
own  door  was  reached,  and  he  was  with 
nervous  haste  applying  the  key,  Mr.  Durant 
felt  by  the  dead  weight  against  him,  and 
the  heavy  breathing,  that  something  more 
than  nervous  terror  or  the  exhaustion  of 
liquor  was  upon  his  companion.  Indeed,  by 


366  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

the  time  he  had  succeeded  in  dragging  the 
poor  fellow  to  the  bed,  and  placing  pillows 
under  his  head,  he  saw  that  he  was  utterly 
unconscious,  not  from  the  stupor  of  liquor, 
but  from  some  more  immediately  alarming 
cause.  He  rang  the  bell  sharply,  and  sent 
for  a  physician,  and  ordered  restoratives  of 
one  sort  and  another,  and  worked  bravely 
and  well  for  the  life  of  the  man  thus 
strangely  thrown  into  his  care. 

And  this  was  the  very  night  in  which 
Kate  Hartzell  had  drank  her  glass  of  milk, 
and  nibbled  her  biscuit,  from  Miss  Wain- 
wright's  hand,  and  taken  her  strong  tonic 
at  the  hands  of  Mr.  Cleveland,  and  cried. 

I  presume  the  milk,  and  the  biscuits,  and 
the  night  of  unbroken  rest,  helped  Kate 
Hartzell  back  to  common  sense.  Certainly 
the  tonic  did.  The  sun  shone  when  she 
awoke  next  morning.  The  air  was  clear  and 
cold.  Kate  opened  her  window  wide,  and 
took  in  the  crisp,  frosty  air,  and  felt  that  her 
pulses  were  steadier  than  they  had  been  in 
Borne  time,  and  her  eyes  wider  open. 


STORM    AND    CALM.  367 

She  began  to  understand  something  of  the 
meaning  of  her  few  past  days  of  experience. 
She  was  a  rebel ;  that  much  was  plain,  and 
she  had  not  imagined  it  before.  It  had 
seemed  to  her  so  strange,  so  unaccountable, 
so  cruel,  that  on  the  very  evening  when 
she  had  first  thrilled  with  the  desire  and 
the  determination  to  save  her  father,  he 
should  have  been  thrown  beyond  her  grasp. 
Why  could  not  God  have  shielded  him 
from  that  blow?  Why  could  he  not  have 
given  her  a  chance  to  try?  She  had  been 
wicked  not  to  try  before  ;  she  saw  that,  and 
she  asked  to  be  forgiven.  But  was  it  like 
God  to  take  away  her  opportunity  the 
moment  he  had  opened  her  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  there  was  an  opportunity  ?  Was  not 
this  very  flash  of  hope  for  her  poor  father 
a  heaven-sent  thought  in  answer  to  her 
prayer?  She  had  supposed  so,  and  Mr. 
Cleveland  had  seemed  to  suppose  so,  when 
she  spoke  to  him.  Was  it  possible  that  God 
meant  only  a  thrust,  in  the  shape  of  that  ter- 
rible "it  might  have  been?"  She  did  not, 
and  could  not,  understand  it. 


368  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

You  are  not  to  understand  that  all  these 
tlio nghts  had  taken  clear  and  logical  shape 
in  Kate  Hartzell's  brain.  They  had  simply 
hovered  around  her  during  those  nights  of 
hopeless  waiting  and  watching.  She  would 
have  been  shocked  had  she  realized  half 
their  import.  She  was  shocked  this  morning, 
when  she  saw  them  in  the  full  light  of  the 
tonic  which  had  hurt  so  the  night  before. 

She  was  certainly  a  rebel  against  the 
ways  of  God.  What  else  could  these  thoughts 
mean  ?  "  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the 
earth  do  right  ? "  Had  she  really  presumed 
to  dictate  to  Grod  the  way  in  which  he 
should  answer  her  prayer  for  her  father? 
But  could  this  be  an  answer? 

Here  was  her  father  apparently  going 
down  to  the  grave  in  darkness  and  silence  ; 
going  as  he  had  lived ;  no  chance  to  right 
the  fearful  wrongs  of  his  life.  And  she, 
God's  child,  had  begged  and  prayed  him, 
now  that  he  had  opened  her  eyes  to 
her  duty,  to  give  her  chances  to  work ! 
Well,  what  of  it  all?  Suppose  God  saw 
that  the  only  way  to  reach  Joel  Hart- 


STORM   AND   CALM.  369 

zell  was  to  place  him  in  unconsciousness  on 
this  bed  of  pain.  But  could  he  be  reached 
in  this  way?  She  did  not  know.  Did  not 
God  ?  If  there  were  any  way  for  God  to 
reach  Joel  Hartzell,  since  he  had  given 
Jesus  up  to  death  for  Joel  Hartzell's  sake, 
would  he  not  reach  him  ?  And  if  Joel 
Hartzell,  in  his  blindness,  would  not  be 
reached,  should  she  blame  God? 

She  had  cried  at  first,  over  the  sharpness 
of  the  tonic,  which  seemed  to  rasp  into 
her  very  soul.  Then  she  had  been  startled 
and  frightened  over  the  power  of  the  truth 
which  it  revealed  to  her.  No,  she  had  not 
trusted  God  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  had  felt 
herself  and  her  father  cruelly  treated  by 
him.  She  crept  out  of  bed  to  her  knees 
somewhere  toward  midnight,  when  the  strength 
of  this  humiliation  came  to  her,  and  cried 
to  her  Father  in  heaven  —  not  to  spare  the 
earthly  father  —  but  to  forgive  the  rebel 
child,  who  had  presumed  to  be  wiser  than 
Father  and  Saviour.  After  that  she  had  slept 
—  a  long,  sound,  healthful  sleep — and  this 
morning  she  had  awakened  calm  and  brave. 


37O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
him."  She  did  not  think  of  the  verse,  but 
something  of  its  spirit  was  in  her  thoughts. 
Yes,  though  Joe  Hartzell  never  spoke  a 
word  on  earth  again,  as  seemed  altogether 
probable,  she  would  understand  that  God 
had  done  for  him  all  that  an  infinite  God 
could  do.  She  would  understand  that  her 
father  had  chosen  his  portion,  and  held  to 
his  choice,  even  in  defiance  of  G-od.  You 
wonder  how  she  could  be  calm  under  such 
a  thought.  I  can  tell  you  that  it  rested  her. 
It  is  a  fearful  thing  for  one  who  loves  the 
Lord  to  move  about  under  the  Satan-inflicted 
torture  of  the  thought :  "  He  is  cruel !  He 
is  cruel ! "  Kate  Hartzell  had  been  under 
that  torture  for  days.  When  it  lifted,  and 
she  could  say:  "He  has  done  right,  he  will 
do  right,  whatever  comes,"  it  rested  her, 
made  her  strong  for  'service. 

She  came  down-stairs  with  the  assured 
step  of  one  ready  for  the  day. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  to  Miss  Wain- 
wright  in  the  hall,  and  smiled  as  she  spoke. 
"I  did  not  know  that  one  night  could  do 


STORM    AND    CALM.  3/1 

so  much  for  anybody.  I  am  ready  now  for 
work." 

"She  really  looks  rested,"  Miss  Wain- 
wright  said. 

It  was  half  an  hour  afterward,  and  she 
was  speaking  to  Mr.  Cleveland.  He  had 
called  in  his  carriage,  with  the  morning 
mail,  and  offered  to  take  both  Kate  and 
Miss  Wainwright  to  the  Flats  if  they  wished. 

"  Miss  Hartzell,"  he  said,  as  he  was  help- 
ing her  from  the  carriage,  "Holly  told  me 
to  tell  you  that  he  asked  his  father  this 
morning  whether,  in  cases  like  your  father's, 
they  were  always  as  unconscious  as  they 
seemed ;  whether  it  might  not  be  possible 
that  your  father  knew  something  of  what 
went  on  about  him,  at  times,  and  the  doc- 
tor replied  it  was  quite  possible.  Holly 
seemed  to  think  it  might  comfort  you  to 
know  this." 

"It   does,"   said   Kate;    "thank   you." 

And  when  he  held  open  the  door  for  her 
to  pass,  she  said  again : 

"  Mr.  Cleveland,   thank   you." 

This    time    she   did   not    mean    for   the   in- 


ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


formation  from  Holly,  nor  yet  for  the  ride 
home,  but  she  left  him.  to  think  what  he 
would,  and  passed  on,  with  Miss  Wainwright 
into  the  room,  and  to  her  father's  bedside  ; 
a  watcher,  with  a  new  lease  of  strength 
and  patience. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SHADOWED    LIVES. 

IN  one  of  the  beautiful  homes,  which 
are  numerous  on  Pennsylvania  Avenue, 
seated  at  an  upper  front  window,  looking 
out  upon  the  passers-by,  with  that  far- 
away air  which  says,  "I  see  them  and  do 
not  see  them ;  they  are  all  as  less  than 
nothing  to  me,  and  I  care  not  what  be- 
comes of  any  of  them,"  was  Mildred  Powers. 
All  about  her  were  lavish  evidences  of 
wealth  and  refined  taste.  Nothing,  certainly, 
that  money  could  buy  had  been  spared  to 
make  this  room  of  hers  a  place  in  which 
she  might  delight  to  stay.  But  the  face 
which  looked  out  from  the  bay-window, 
where  birds  and  flowers  were  enjoying  the 
brightness  of  the  day,  was  far  from  bright. 
There  were  traces  of  tears,  aud  there  were 

373 


374  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

marks  of  a  sorrow  which  tears  could  not 
relieve.  It  was  a  young  face  to  be  so 
shadowed;  as  you  looked  at  it,  you  could 
not  help  hoping  that  time  would  efface  the 
traces  of  sorrow;  but  certainly  they  were 
there  now.  She  was  quiet  enough;  the  first 
storm  of  her  grief  had  calmed.  In  her  lap 
lay  pages  of  paper  closely  written.  Some- 
thing in  the  way  in  which  her  hand  grasped 
the  papers  would  have  led  you  to  conclude 
that  they  had  to  do  with  her  trouble,  what- 
ever it  was.  That  she  had  not  just  now 
given  them  a  first  reading,  was  also  evident; 
they  were  held  as  papers  with  which  she 
was,  and  had  been  for  some  time,  perfectly 
familiar;  but  which  were,  nevertheless,  of 
grave  importance. 

Meantime,  her  mind  was  busy  with  a 
problem  which  she  shrank  from  settling. 
This  letter  had  been  in  her  possession  for 
three  days,  and  she  was  still  revolving  the 
question  whether  it  was  her  duty  to  take 
it  down  to  her  mother. 

"Of  course,  mamma  must  know,"  she 
said  to  herself,  mournfully,  "but  ought  I 


SHADOWED   LIVES.  375 

to  give  her  the  entire  story  in  detail? 
Would  it  be  wrong,  I  wonder,  to  tell  her 
about  it,  as  fully  as  she  chooses  to  •  ques- 
tion, and  let  the  rest  pass?" 

Unquestionably  this  would  be  the  easier 
way ;  there  were  sentences  on  those  pages 
which  she  shrank  from  having  any  eye  read, 
even  a  mother's.  Still,  ought  she,  a  young 
girl,  to  have  in  her  possession  a  letter,  one 
line  of  which  she  was  not  willing  to  have 
her  mother  read  ? 

"  Mamma  will  trust  me,"  she  said  aloud, 
and  half  indignantly,  as  if  in  reply  to  some 
suggestion  from  outside.  But  all  the  more 
did  it  immediately  occur  to  her  that  she 
should  be  worthy  of  the  trust.  The  end  of 
the  mental  discussion  was,  that  Mildred 
gathered  the  papers  into  their  envelope  and 
went  across  the  hall  to  her  mother's  room. 
A  beautiful  room,  furnished  with  the  same 
disregard  of  expense  which  had  charac- 
terized Mildred's,  and  with  the  same  ex- 
quisite regard  to  taste ;  though  the  colors 
were  more  subdued,  and  the  appointments 
of  the  toilet  were  for  quiet,  middle  life, 


3/6  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

rather  than  for  girlish  tastes.  The  lady  who 
sat  by  the  open  grate  fire,  with  a  light 
shawl  thrown  gracefully  about  her,  and 
writing  materials  at  her  side,  was  an.  older 
edition  of  Mildred  herself.  Eyes  and  lips, 
and  features  generally,  were  repeated.  Once 
you  could  have  said  the  same  of  the  hair, 
but  Mildred's  was  a  rich  brown,  while  the 
still  young  mother's  was  plentifully  streaked 
with  gray. 

"  Sudden  and  heavy  sorrow  brings  gray 
hairs  fast." 

Mildred  had  heard  her  mother  say  this 
with  a  sigh.  She  thought  of  it  that  morn- 
ing when  she  was  brushing  out  her  long, 
brown  locks.  Would  the  gray  hairs  come 
fast  among  them  now?  Her  sorrow  was 
heavy ;  so  she  thought,  poor  child,  and  it 
had  been  sudden  enough ;  she  had  not  dreamed 
of  anything  like  this,  until  the  letter 
came. 

The  elder  lady  looked  up,  on  Mildred's 
entrance  : 

"  Well,  daughter,"  she  said  with  a  smile, 
and  made  room  for  her  on  the  couch  near 


SHADOWED    LIVES.  377 

at  hand,  brushing  away  the  accumulation  of 
papers  and  a  book  or  two. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Mildred,  talking  rapidly 
and  not  heeding  the  movement,  "  I  had  a 
letter  come  the  other  day." 

"So  Maria  told  me."  The  voice  was  quiet, 
the  eyes  still  smiling.  "  I  have  been  biding 
my  time.  I  knew  you  would  want  to  show 
it  to  mother,  after  awhile,  for  I  saw  that 
it  troubled  you." 

"  Mamma,"  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
breath  that  told  of  strong  and  suppressed 
emotion,  "I  did  not  know  how  to  show  it 
to  you,  but  I  thought  I  ought.  In  the 
first  place,  you  will  not  understand — it  is 
from  a  gentleman,  a  stranger." 

Mrs.  Powers  removed  her  foot  from  the 
hassock  and  sat  erect,  drawing  her  shawl 
about  her  with  almost  a  shiver,  and,  as 
Mildred  again  paused,  said : 

"  Well,  daughter,"  her  voice  tender,  but 
alert.  What  new  danger  was  this  ?  The 
world  was  full  of  wolves,  and  she  had  but 
one  very  choice  lamb. 

"  Mamma,   you   need   not  be  afraid,   not  in 


3/8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

that  way.  It  isn't  anything  foolish.  He  is 
a  gentleman  whom  I  met  while  I  was  with 
Fannie  Copeland.  I  don't  know  him  much, 
only  he  is  a  Christian  gentleman  —  a  tem- 
perance worker.  He  seeks  out  young  men 
who  need  help,  and  tries  to  help  them.  I 
had  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  him  alone 
for  a  moment.  I  knew  he  was  going  to 
Chicago,  and  I  gave  him  Leonard  Airedale's 
address,  and  said  that  I  thought  perhaps  he 
needed  help.  I  did  not  ask  him  to  write 
to  me,  mamma;  of  course  not.  I  did  not 
give  him  permission  to  mention  my  name  to 
Mr.  Airedale.  I  just  spoke  to  him  as 
you  might  speak  to  a  good  man,  of  one 
whom  }Tou  thought  he  might  be  able  to 
help.  I  did  in  all  respects  as  I  thought 
you  would  like  your  daughter  to  do." 

"  I  know,  daughter.  I  trust  you  fully. 
And  now  this  gentleman  has  written  you 
about  him ;  pleading  for  him  I  suppose ; 
and  you  are  a  little  afraid  to  have  mother 
see  the  letter.  But,  daughter,  it  is  surely 
right  that  I  should  do  so.  Thank  you  for 
coming  to  me,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 


SHADOWED    LIVES.  379 

Mildred  dropped  the  letter  into  it  without 
another  word,  and,  passing,  went  over  to 
the  window,  where  she  looked  blindly  down 
on  the  people  below. 

"  There  stands  Mildred  Powers,  framed  in 
just  the  right  light  to  make  a  pretty  pic- 
ture of  herself,"  said  one  of  the  passers-by, 
glancing  up  as  she  spoke.  "All  the  prettier 
because  she  is  utterly  unconscious  of  it.  If 
that  girl  isn't  a  favorite  of  fortune,  I  don't 
know  who  is.  Wealth,  and  leisure,  and 
beauty  and  friends ;  nothing  to  trouble  her, 
nothing  to  worry  about  in  any  w&y ;  and 
a  general  favorite  with  all  the  people  worth 
knowing." 

"  Yet   she   has   buried    her   father." 

"I  know,"  and  the  speaker's  tones  grew 
gentler,  "  but  he  was  a  grand  man,  ready 
to  die ;  and  time,  you  know,  has  softened 
that  sorrow.  Her  father  is  simply  a  beauti- 
ful memory  to  her,  which  it  helps  her  to 
recall.  And  her  mother  is  young,  and  well, 
and  devoted  to  Mildred.  It  is  difficult  to 
see  how  the  troubles  of  life,  which  they 
say  come  to  all  people,  are  going  to  get  a 


38O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

chance  to  touch  her."  And  the  speaker 
sighed,  as  though  she  had  felt  the  touch  of 
trouble  in  no  gentle  form. 

Yet  at  this  moment  the  sheltered  girl  of 
whom  they  spoke  carried  the  sorest  heart 
which  she  thought  it  possible  for  any  one 
to  have,  and  looked  at  the  speakers  with 

eyes  that  were  blinded  by  a  rush  of  bitter 
tears. 

Mrs.  Powers  pushed  writing-desk  and  pa- 
pers from  her,  and  grasped  at  that  letter 
with  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  suppressed  dis- 
appointment. The  one  anxiety  of  her  life 
was  pressing  up  again,  and  had  brought 
with  it  perhaps  a  strong  ally,  and  she  must 
combat  her  daughter's  wishes  all  alone. 
"If  her  father  were  only  here!"  The  widow 
did  not  speak  those  words  aloud.  She  only 
sighed  them  into  the  ears  of  the  infinite 
and  pitying  God. 

Then    she   began   to   read : 

MY  DEAR  Miss  POWERS: 

You  did  not  give  me  permission  to  write  to  you,  yet 
I  have  that  to  say  which  is  just  that  you  should  hear. 
In  the  first  place  I  have  to  ask  your  forgiveness,  aud 


SHADOWED    LIVES.  381 

your  mother's.  I  have  exceeded  the  bounds  of  the 
commission  given  me.  I  found  the  young  man  of  whom 
you  told  me,  and  found,  as  you  surmised,  that  he 
needed  a  friend;  and,  in  order  to  give  myself  a  chance 
of  befriending  him,  I  was  obliged  to  say  that  I  was  a 
friend,  or  at  least  an  acquaintance,  of  yours.  Now  to 
my  story.  I  was  hurrying  to  my  boarding-place  on  the 
third  evening  after  my  arrival  in  Chicago.  I  had  spent 
some  hours  in  search  of  the  person  whose  name  you 
gave  me,  without  avail.  He  had  left  the  employment 
of  the  firm  mentioned,  and  I  could  get  no  clue.  On 
this  evening,  as  I  was  hastening  up  town,  I  saw  a 
young  man  standing  studying  the  water  below  him,  in 
a  way  that  boded  no  good.  At  first  I  passed,  then 
felt  impelled  to  turn  and  speak.  I  received  an  unsatis- 
factory answer,  but  for  some  reason  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  leave  the  man.  I  tried  to  draw  him  into 
conversation,  to  win  his  confidence.  The  more  I  tried, 
the  more  sure  I  felt  that  he  was  in  peril,  and  needed 
help.  Two  young  men  passed  by,  both  partially  intoxi- 
cated, and  spoke  to  the  stranger,  calling  him  by  name. 
I  recognized  the  name  as  the  one  you  had  given  me. 
It  was  then  and  there  that  I  exceeded  my  instructions, 
and  tried  to  rouse  tke  man  by  sneaking  your  name,  and 
claiming  myself  as  a  friend  of  yours  and  his.  I  think 
it  was  because  of  this  that  I  succeeded  in  getting  him 
to  go  home  with  me.  It  was  well  I  did.  I  hope  and 
trust  we  may,  by  this  means,  have  saved  a  soul.  He 
was  at  that  time  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  I  just 
succeeded  in  getting  him  inside  my  own  door,  when  he 
fell  against  me  heavily;  not  in  a  drunken  stupor,  but 


382  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

with  something  more  serious.  It  proved  to  be  a  sort  of 
fit.  The  brain  was  seriously  congested,  and  the  physician 
whom  we  promptly  summoned  gave  it  as  his  opinion 
that  the  poor  fellow  would  not  live  until  morning.  I 
hasten  over  the  days  which  followed,  to  tell  you  that 
he  is  now  living,  and  on  the  road,  we  trust,  to  mental 
and  physical  recovery.  He  has  had  a  very  alarming 
illness,  and  still  lies  in  a  weak  state.  This  is  only  part, 
and,  perhaps,  for  his  friends,  not  the  hardest  part  of 
the  story.  I  have  been  with  him  much  during  his  ill- 
ness, spending  the  greater  portion  of  my  nights  in  his 
room,  as  in  the  fever  of  delirium  he  clung  to  me.  I 
have  learned  to  know  a  great  deal  about  his  past;  and 
it  is  a  sad  record.  Of  late,  he  has  been  going  down 
very  rapidly.  He  fell  in  with  a  hard  class  of  young 
men ;  but  truth  compels  me  to  state  that  he  was  their 
leader,  rather  than  their  follower.  He  went  astray  in 
almost  every  way  that  you  can  imagine.  In  many  ways 
that  I  rejoice  to  believe  you  cannot  imagine.  He  was  dis- 
charged by  the  employers  whose  address  I  had,  because 
of  dissipation.  On  the  evening  in  which  I  found  him, 
he  was  not  so  much  intoxicated  as  to  be  unaware  of 
what  he  was  doing.  He  had,  as  I  feared,  planned  self- 
destruction.  I  thought  I  saw  that  in  his  face  as  I 
passed.  He  was  in  deep  trouble,  which  became  clear  to 
us  during  the  time  that  he  lay  in  delirium.  He  had 
become  involved  in  pecuniary  trouble;  had  gambled,  as 
sooner  or  later  nearly  all  drinkers  do,  and,  in  a  fit  of 
drunken  despair,  had  forged  the  firm  name  of  his 
former  employers,  for  not  a  very  large  amount,  but 
quite  large  enough  to  send  him  to  the  State's  prison. 


SHADOWED    LIVES.  383 

The  matter  was  not  sharply  managed,  and  came  to  light 
before  he  bad  a  chance  to  get  out  of  the  country.  It 
was  the  belief  that  he  was  being  shadowed  by  the 
police,  which  had  determined  him  to  make,  what  he 
called,  an  end  of  the  whole  miserable  business.  His 
idea  of  the  end  was  to  drown  himself.  When  the  facts 
In  the  case  came  to  light,  some  of  the  Christian  men 
in  the  city  took  hold  of  the  matter,  visited  his  employ- 
ers, secured  a  stay  of  proceedings,  and  eventually  secured 
a  compromise.  His  mother  was  telegraphed  for,  and 
came  on  at  once,  exerting  herself  earnestly  in  his  be- 
half. 

We  were  enabled,  as  soon  as  the  delirium  passed,  to 
give  the  poor  man  the  news  that  he  would  not  be 
arrested  for  forgery;  that  the  matter  was  settled,  and 
the  sinner  forgiven.  He  appeared  grateful,  and  shed 
some  tears;  but  I  must  own  to  you  —  what  in  your 
sheltered  life,  you  probably  do  not  realize  —  that  sin  has 
a  way  of  blunting  the  sensibilities;  he  was  neither  so 
grateful  nor  so  penitent  as  you  might  have  supposed.  I 
do  not  think  he  was  deeply  overwhelmed  with  the  *///  of 
what  he  had  done,  but  simply  with  the  thought  of  con- 
sequences; and,  these  being  averted,  he  was  ready  to 
take  hold  of  life  again.  I  uiged  him  to  sign  a  pledge 
to  let  his  worst  enemy  alone  forever,  but  he  assured 
me  that  he  could  do  that  without  signing  any  pledge;  that 
he  had  drank  his  last  drop.  I  hope  this  is  so,  but  I 
have  little  faith  in  it.  Perhaps  the  poor  fellow  must 
drink  deeper  of  the  dregs  of  siu  before  he  will  consent 
to  be  saved. 

And    now,   my    friend,   there    is    another  and    a    verf 


384  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

dark  side  to  this  sad  picture  of  a  perverted  life.  There 
came,  repeatedly,  during  the  earlier  days  of  his  illness  and 
unconsciousness,  a  poor,  sorrowful-looking  young  woman; 
quite  young  —  only  a  child,  she  would  have  been  called 
in  a  sheltered  home,  with  a  loving  mother  to  watch  over 
her;  but  she  has  neither  mother  nor  father.  She  did  not, 
however,  look  like  a  sinful  woman.  She  expressed  the 
most  intense  anxiety  for  the  sick,  and,  as  we  thought, 
dying  man.  Day  after  day  she  came,  and  begged  to  see 
him.  When  we  told  her  that  he  was  entirely  uncon- 
scious, and  would  probably  remain  so,  she  broke  into 
a  perfect  passion  of  tears,  and  begged  to  sit  beside  him 
for  only  a  little  while. 

At  last  I  asked  her,  as  gently  as  I  could,  what  rea- 
son she,  a  young  girl,  had  for  expecting  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  the  room  of»a  young  man  who  was  no  kin  to 
her.  I  assured  her  that  he  had  the  best  of  care,  the 
most  skilful  of  physicians;  there  was  nothing  she  could 
do  for  him,  how  could  she  expect  to  be  admitted,  and 
why  did  she  wish  it  ? 

The  poor  young  thing  lost  every  vestige,  then,  of  her 
attempted  self-control,  and  assured  me,  with  bitter  sobs, 
that  she  was  the  young  man's  wife!  Of  course,  I  was 
shocked  and  dismayed.  But  when  I  questioned,  and 
cross-questioned,  she  told  a  straightforward  story.  It 
was  a  secret,  she  declared,  and  :>he  was  not  to  reveal 
it;  she  would  not  have  done  so  for  anything  in  the 
world  —  only,  if  the  man  was  going  to  die,  she  must, 
and  would,  see  him  once  more!  I  took  her  to  his 
mother.  She  undertook  to  prove  the  falseness  of  the 
young  woman's  story,  assuring  me  that  it  was  not  pos- 


SHADOWED   LIVES.  385 

Bible.  Earnest  investigation  on  her  part,  and  on  mine, 
established  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt  the  truth  of  the 
poor  girl's  statement.  The  young  man  was  intoxicated 
at  the  time.  He  Lad  not  realized  in  any  sense  the 
step  he  was  taking;  nevertheless  he  took  it.  They  went 
to  the  house  of  a  clergyman  in  the  suburbs;  and  whether 
the  reverend  gentleman  was  so  accustomed  to  the  fumes 
of  liquor  about  young  men  as  to  take  no  notice,  or 
"Whether  he  thought  the  matter  was  not  of  his  concern, 
I  do  not  yet  understand.  However  it  was,  he  performed 
the  ceremony  which  made  them  husband  and  wife. 
That  was  two  months  ago  last  Friday  night;  since  which 
time  the  girl  has  seen  but  little  of  him,  and  it  was  his 
deliberate  intention  to  desert  her  and  make  his  escape 
to  some  foreign  port,  where,  he  told  me,  he  had  meant 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  live  as  he  ought.  No 
sense  of  the  solemnity  of  the  vows  which  he  had  taken 
seemed  to  impress  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  appeared 
to  be  overwhelmed  with  astonishment  that  even  his 
mother  should  tell  him  it  was  his  duty  to  recognize  the 
young  woman  as  his  lawful  wife. 

"But  I  did  not  mean  to  marry  her,"  he  said.  "I 
was  drunk  when  I  did  it." 

My  dear  Miss  Powers,  I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to 
tell  you  this  long,  sad  story,  plainly;  for,  however  pain- 
ful it  may  be  to  his  friends,  it  is  necessary  that  they 
should  know  the  truth.  His  steps  have  been  downward 
for  the  past  year,  to  an  alarming  extent.  I  am  to  re- 
main in  Chicago  some  two  or  three  weeks  yet.  If  your 
mother  desires  me  to  serve  her  in  any  way  in  this  con- 
nection, I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  Of  course  you  will 


386  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

communicate  with  her;  and  if  I  hear  from  her,  I  shall 
make   it  my  first  effort   to   execute   her   will. 

If  there  is  nothing  further  to  be  done,  of  course  I 
expect  no  reply  to  this.  Mrs.  Airedale  is  now  with  her 
husband,  caring  for  him  as  a  wife  can.  She  is  young 
and  ignorant,  but  loving  and  good-intentioned,  and  de- 
ceived. She  has  gone  as  no  daughter  could  go,  who  had 
a  true  mother;  and  she  has  a  sad  harvest  to  reap,  I 
fear. 

I  am  at  work  for  my  Master,  and  recognize  you  as 
one  of  the  laborers;  therefore  I  make  no  apology  for 
burdening  you  with  the  details  of  this  account.  I  kept 
my  pledge,  and  shall  continue  the  name  on  my  list  for 
work  and  prayer. 

Yours  in  Christian  bonds, 

SCOTT  DURANT. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  TOUCH   OF  THE   WORLD. 

BEYOND  a  dismayed  exclamation  at  first, 
when  she  read  of  her  daughter's  name 
as  being  spoken  in  the  midnight  streets 
of  Chicago,  Mrs.  Powers,  with  a  glance  to- 
ward the  figure  by  the  window,  read  in 
rapid  silence  through  the  closely-written 
sheets. 

To  describe  the  various  sensations  which 
thrilled  her  as  she  read,  would  be  a  difficult 
thing.  Surprise,  dismay,  disapproval,  indig- 
nation, relief;  all  these  blended.  Yet  I 
hope  you  will  not  misjudge  her,  when  I 
tell  you  that  relief  was  the  strongest  feeling; 
that  she  dropped  the  last  sheet,  and  with 
clasped  hands,  murmured,  "  Thank  God." 
Not  aloud.  She  would  not  have  had  the 
girl  by  the  window  hear  her  for  the  world. 

387 


388  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

She  understood  the  human  heart  well  enough 
to  know  that  the  girl  could  neither  say  it 
nor  sj7nipathize  with  it;  not  yet.  She  went 
swiftly  over  the  story,  gathering  it  into  a  few 
seconds  of  time,  as  the  mind  can  do.  Mil- 
dred, her  one  sheltered  and  treasured  blossom, 
sent  out  from  her  for  the  first  time  to  the 
perils  of  boarding-school  life.  Sent  out, 
guarded  and  shielded  on  every  side.  Trusted, 
as  the  mother  exultingly  felt  few  mothers 
could  trust  their  daughters.  She  had  proved 
worthy  of  the  trust.  The  mother  distinctly 
remembered  that  first  letter  of  petition. 

"  Mamma,  they  want  me  to  write  for 
your  permission  to  dance  with  them  at  the 
Friday  socials.  Madame  Farrar  says  you 
need  have  no  fears  of  my  meeting  any  whom 
you  would  not  invite  to  your  own  parlors ;  she 
is  very  particular.  They  have  only  the  square 
dances ;  Madame  Farrar  does  not  approve  of 
any  others,  of  course ;  and  only  one  or 
two  sets  are  allowed  in  an  evening  She 
says  to  dance  for  hours,  is  as  silly  as  it  is 
to  eat  for  hours.  I  don't  care  much  about 
it,  mamma;  only,  of  course  it  is  a  little 


A    TOUCH    OF   THE   WORLD.  389 

embarrassing  to  be  quite  alone.  I  am  the 
only  one  here  who  does  not  dance ;  but 
then,  of  course,  dear  mamma,  that  is  of  no 
consequence  at  all,  if  you  would  rather  not." 

The  mother  remembered  the  sweet  word- 
ing of  the  letter ;  what  satisfaction  it  had 
been  to  her  heart  to  feel  that  all  these  ex- 
pressions were  true.  She  remembered  just 
how  she  had  studied  over  the  question ; 
taken  counsel  over  it.  She  could  see  now  the 
tap  of  her  pastor's  kid  glove  against  his  one- 
gloved  hand,  as  he  expressed  his  opinion. 

"  We  must  not  draw  the  reins  too  closely, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Powers,  else  there  may  be 
danger  of  a  rebound;  not  that  you  have 
occasion  to  fear  that,  of  course,  in  Mildred's 
case,"  he  had  hastened  to  add,  because  she 
remembered  she  had  drawn  herself  up,  and 
assured  him  that  she  had  no  fear  of  her 
daughter;  that  her  happiness  really  was  not 
dependent  on  such  trivialities. 

"But  then,"  he  had  added,  "I  really 
think  harm  is  often  done  in  these  ways. 
The  fact  is,  young  people  will  be  young 
people,  and  it  is  right  that  they  should  be. 


39O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

And  I  should  say  that  Madame  Farrar's 
judgment  was  to  be  depended  upon.  I  do 
not  believe  in  indiscriminate  dancing,  of 
course ;  yet  properly  managed,  it  is  a  grace- 
ful and  healthful  amusement.  We  must  not 
separate  ourselves  too  entirely  from  the  well- 
intentioned,  well-behaved  world,  you  know, 
lest  we  lose  all  influence  over  it." 

After  her  pastor  left  her,  Mrs.  Powers 
remembered  that  she  felt  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  he  had  given  her  any  advice,  after 
all.  He  seemed  to  have  uttered  a  few 
commonplaces  with  which  she  was  quite 
familiar.  Still,  he  had  influenced  her.  She 
felt,  after  talking  with  him,  less  inclined  to 
hold  Mildred  aloof  from  the  amusements 
which  seemed  to  belong  to  youth.*  Not 
satisfied,  but  inclined  to  yield.  For  the 
hundredth  time  since  her  widowhood,  she 
said  with  a  deep  sigh,  "If  I  only  knew 
what  her  father  would  say  !  "  What  had  he 
said  when  alive?  Why,  nothing  tangible,  or 
sufficiently  definite  for  her  to  fall  back  upon 
•  now.  He  had  shaken  his  head  over  many 
gatherings  to  which  Mildred  had  been  in- 


A   TOUCH   OF    THE    WORLD.  39 1 

vited.  "I  don't  like  it,"  he  had  said,  "she 
is  but  a  child ;  she  is  better  off  with  her 
mother.  Make  her  happy  without  these  things.5' 
And  the  mother  had  done  so,  and  held  her 
child  to  the  society  of  her  parents,  and  their 
choice  friends,  and  made  her  happy  with 
them.  And  questions  which  perhaps  ought 
to  have  been  definitely  settled,  were  simply 
pushed  into  the  vague  future.  Now  the 
father  was  gone,  and  Mildred  was  no  longer 
a  child,  and  was  away  from  home,  and 
mingling  with  others  of  her  age  exclusively. 
Must  she  not  do  in  a  degree  as  they  did, 
or  be  uncomfortable  ?  The  conclusion  was 
that  the  mother  wrote  her  darling: 

"You  know,  daughter,  that  mother  does 
not  approve  of  much  dancing ;  and  the 
round  dances,  I  think,  are  positively  degrad- 
ing. I  know  you  will  never  be  tempted  by 
them.  I  suppose  the  sort  of  dancing  which 
Madame  Farrar  admits  is  hardly  more  than 
a  promenade  in  which  one  keeps  step  to 
music.  I  will  leave  the  matter  to  your 
judgment,  daughter.  I  am  so  glad  to  re- 
member that  I  have  a  daughter  to  trust." 


392  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

And  Mildred  had  written  her  joyous  let- 
ters after  that  about  the  Friday  socials.  It 
was  pleasanter  to  join  the  dancers  than  it 
had  been  to  stand  in  a  corner  and  look 
on.  They  had  delightful  talks,  too,  while 
dancing. 

She  was  introduced  last  evening  to  a 
friend  of  Madame  Farrar's  son.  He  came 
occasionally  to  the  socials.  He  asked  an  in- 
troduction to  her  because  she  was  such  a 
graceful  danc"er. 

"  Think  of  that,  mamma,"  the  happy  girl 
had  written,  "when  I  never  went  to  danc- 
ing school  in  my  life.  I  told  him  so,  and 
he  said  that  it  was  natural  for  flowers 
to  have  sweet  odors,  and  for  birds  to 
sing.  I  might  have  told  him  of  many  a 
flower  which  has  no  odor,  and  that  there  are 
nice  little  gray  birds  who  do  not  sing  at 
all.  But  I  didn't.  However,  I  did  tell  him 
that  I  hoped  my  friends  would  have  a  bet- 
ter reason  for  choosing  me  than  that  I  was 
a  good  dancer.  He  is  very  pleasant,  mamma, 
but  a  little  too  fond  of  dancing  for  me  to 
admire  him  much.  His  name  is  Airedale, 


A   TOUCH    OF   THE    WORLD.  393 

Leonard  Airedale.  Euphonious,  isn't  it?" 
After  that,  the  "  euphonious "  name  had 
crept  into  almost  every  letter;  curiously,  too, 
it  was  nearly  always  connected  with  danc- 
ing. "  Mr.  Airedale  and  she  led  the  set ; " 
"  Mr.  Airedale  and  she  danced  both  sets 
together,  and  begged  Madame  Farrar  for  a 
third,  but  she  would  not  grant  it."  And 
then  had  come  a  sentence  which  Mrs. 
Powers  did  not  like.  "  Mamma,  I  begin  to 
understand  what  a  fascination  this  amuse- 
ment can  become  to  some  people ;  there  is 
something  very  delightful  in  rhythmical 
movements,  with  the  room  full  of  sweet 
sound,  and  bright  with  flowers,  and  rich 
with  perfume.  I  am  always  sorry  when  the 
hour  is  over.  Still,  I  think  it  makes  a  great 
difference  with  whom  one  dances.  Mamma, 
do  you  mind  that  I  always  dance  with  Mr. 
Airedale,  and  with  no  one  else?  I  don't 
enjoy  it  with  others,  and  he  doesn't.  He 
is  a  very  fine  dancer.  Mamma,  he  says  that 
some  of  the  round  dances  are  not  objection- 
able, and  that  he  is  sure  I  would  enjoy 
them  very  much." 


394  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

With  wide-open,  nervous  eyes  had  the 
mother  read  this  letter.  Who  and  what 
was  Mr.  Airedale  ?  Why  had  she  not  taken 
alarm  before  ?  She  had  thought  of  him  as 
one  of  the  boys,  and  considered  him  as 
good  as  any,  for  her  daughter  to  walk 
around  with  in  the  musical  promenade.  She 
wrote  some  earnest  words  of  warning  and 
advice.  Alas,  too  late !  Not  too  late  for 
obedience,  but  for  peace.  The  fair  daughter, 
who  had  gone  away  a  child,  confessed  that 
in  this  dancer  she  had  found  a  friend.  She 
liked  to  be  with  him ;  liked  to  hear  his 
talk ;  liked  everything  about  him ;  would  be 
willing  to  dance  round  dances,  or  no  dances 
at  all,  at  his  bidding.  He  was  not  a  boy. 
He  was  seven  years  older  than  she,  and  a 
business  man — a  confidential  clerk  in  a 
Chicago  house.  He  wsis  here  on  some  busi- 
ness for  the  firm,  and  tarrying  longer  than 
he  had  meant;  on  her  account,  he  confessed. 

Then  did  Mrs.  Powers  make  a  hasty 
journey  to  the  renowned  school  where  she 
had  sheltered  her  daughter  from  the  dangers 
of  this  wicked  world.  She  saw  and  heard 


A   TOUCH    OF   THE    WORLD.  395 

the  handsome  young  man  whom  her  daugh- 
ter's dancing'  had  won.  The  wise  mother 
did  not  feel  fascinated  by  Lira  as  the  daugh- 
ter h^d  done.  She  did  not  trust  him. 
Close  inquiry  brought  to  light  the  fact  that 
his  habits  were  none  of  the  best ;  that  he 
sometimes  left  the  school  socials  at  the  dis- 
creet hour  of  ten,  and  spent  the  time  until 
long  after  midnight  in  some  fashionable 
saloon.  No  breath  of  this  had  Mildred 
known.  The  startled  Madame  Farrar  con- 
fessed that  she  had  not  such  an  idea;  that 
her  son  considered  the  young  man  unex- 
ceptionable, else  he  would  not  have  been 
invited  to  the  socials.  And  the  troubled 
mother  did  not  like  to  tell  her  that  there 
were  people  who  did  not  consider  the  son 
himself  unexceptionable.  She  told  her  sad 
discoveries  to  Mildred,  who,  in  turn,  told 
them  frankly  to  Leonard  Airedale.  Alas ! 
for  the  watchful  mother.  She  had  let  a 
stranger  creep  into  her  place  in  her  daugh- 
ter's heart.  Leonard  Airedale  was  partly 
penitent  and  partly  indignant.  A  little  of 
the  story  was  true,  and  a  great  deal  of  it 


39/5  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

i 

was  false.  He  had  been  tempted,  two  or 
three  times,  to  drink  more  wine  than  was 
good  for  him.  He  admitted  that  he  was 
sorely  tempted  in  this  way;  but  he  pleaded 
and  promised,  if  she  would  be  his  friend, 
would  stand  by  him,  and  believe  in  him, 
he  would  reform  his  life  in  every  possible 
way,  so  that  the  very  angels  could  not  find 
a  flaw.  She  had  it  in  her  power  to  mold 
him  at  her  will.  He  had  discovered  that 
life  would  be  a  desert  without  her,  and  a 
Garden  of  Eden  in  her  presence. 

You  have  heard  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
It  may  be  you  are  old  enough  to  smile  over 
it,  and  wise  enough  to  take  it  for  what  it 
is  worth.  But  Mildred  was  young  and  igno- 
rant, and  had  been  away  from  her  mother, 
and  had  been  caught  unawares  in  the  meshes 
of  this  fascinating  world.  Still,  she  was  a 
true,  pure  girl,  in  that  she  came  directly 
to  that  mother  with  the  story  and  the  plea. 
She  believed  in  Leonard  Airedale.  She  be- 
lieved that  she  held  his  interests  in  her 
power.  She  was  more  than  ready  to  sacri- 
fice herself.  Not  so  her  mother;  she  had 


A   TOUCH   OF   THE  WORLD.  397 

heard  before  about  "molding  tempted  lives." 
She  believed  in  One  who  could  do  it,  and 
that  One  neither  her  daughter,  nor  her 
daughter's  friend  had  sought.  There  was 
more  to  reform,  she  believed,  than  the 
young  man  had  admitted.  Had  he  been  en- 
tirely frank  with  mother  and  daughter,  it 
would  actually  have  been  better  for  his 
interests.  As  it  was,  the  mother  was  as 
firm  as  adamant.  The  young  man  might 
reform ;  she  would  be  glad  if  he  would ; 
but  it  must  not  be  because  her  daughter 
held  out  hopes  to  him  which  she  earnestly 
hoped  would  never  be  realized.  The  first 
step  toward  right-doing  would  be  to  return 
to  the  business  in  Chicago  which  he  had 
so  long  neglected.  Let  him  go  to  his  work 
and  prove  himself  a  man,  if  he  would,  but 
not  a  letter,  or  a  line,  must  pass  between 
the  two  for  at  least  a  year.  She  would 
have  no  break  in  the  silence.  She  would 
not  allow  a  message,  through  a  third  party, 
from  the  one  to  the  other.  A  year  was  a 
very  short  time  to  the  mother.  I  suppose 
it  was  an  eternity  to  Mildred,  poor  thing. 


398  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

Leonard  Airedale  thought  the  mother  hard 
and  cruel.  He  did  not  dare  say  so  in  words 
to  her  loyal  daughter — almost  a  pity  that 
he  had  not — but  lie  hovered  about  the 
idea,  until  it  left  its  impress.  Mildred  would 
not  have  owned  to  another  that  her  mother 
could  do  other  than  right,  but  she  told 
herself  that  "  mamma  had  forgotten  that  she 
was  once  young." 

Mr.  Airedale  went  away,  and  the  -  mother 
went  back  home  —  and  life  went  on.  The 
next  thing  that  poor  Mildred  did  was  to 
grow  more  gay  and  frivolous  than  she  had 
ever  been ;  to  mingle  in  all  that  was  of 
the  world,  with  a  zest  that  she  had  not 
shown  before.  She  was  trying,  poor  creature, 
to  find  happiness  in  the  ways  which  had 
lately  seemed  so  pleasant  to  her.  It  was 
about  this  time  that  her  intimacy  with  Fannie 
Copeland  deepened.  Fannie  admired  and 
missed  the  handsome  Chicago  gentleman, 
and  openly  lamented  the  loss  to  their  circle 
in  his  absence.  Mildred  liked  her  for  appre- 
ciating him,  and  drew  nearer  to  her;  and 
the  mother,  at  home,  cried  over  the  changed 


A   TOUCH   OF   THE   WORLD.  399 

tone  in  her  darling's  letters,  and  listened  to 
her  pastor  on  the  Sabbath  with  a  sore  heart, 
as  he  delivered  his  eloquent  sentences.  If 
only  he  had  cautioned  her  to  make  every 
effort  to  keep  her  darling  unspotted  from 
the  world,  the  issue  might  have  been  dif- 
ferent. Yet  I  am  glad  to  tell  you  that  this 
Christian  mother  did  not  lay  all  the  blame 
on  her  pastor,  or  on  her  other  worldly-wise 
friends  ;  she  remembered  that  she  had  an  uner- 
ring Guide,  and  had  she  lived  close  enough  to 
him  to  hear  his  voice  reminding  her  to 
walk  apart,  as  one  who  belonged  to  a  pecul- 
iar people,  she  could  have  held  her  daughter 
away  from  much  that  had  injured. 

Well,  the  days  passed,  and  one  day  while 
the  mother  was  praying,  there  came  to 
Mildred  an  experience  such  as  she  had 
known  nothing  about  before.  It  was  just  a 
week  or  two  before  the  close  of  the  sum- 
mer term,  and  she  was  sad  at  the  thought 
of  going  away  from  associations  which  were 
fraught  with  tender  memories.  She  wandered 
about  a  great  deal,  taking  last  walks  and 
deepening  old  associations.  She  wandered  one 


4OO  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

afternoon  into  the  church,  whither  she  had 
once  gone  with  Leonard  Airedale.  It  was  a 
week  day,  but  the  church  was  open  and  the 
organ  was  playing.  She  remembered  the  seat 
in  which  they  two  had  sat  —  she  and  Leon- 
ard. She  would  slip  in  and  take  the  same 
seat  again,  if  she  could.  It  might  be  a 
marriage  ceremony,  or  it  might  be  a  funeral 
—  she  did  not  care.  There  was  no  door- 
keeper. It  was  an  open  service.  So  she 
slipped  in.  It  was  a  Bible  meeting.  She 
had  never  been  to  such  an  one  before.  She 
had  declined,  but  the  evening  before,  an  in- 
vitation to  attend  this. 

How  did  it  come  about  that  the  words 
spoken  there  should  be  just  the  ones  suited 
to  reach  the  heart  of  this  young,  troubled 
soul,  who  thought  her  burden  heavy?  God 
knows.  There  was  a  mother  at  home  pray- 
ing for  her  one  charge.  We  shall  probably 
never  know,  on  this  side,  how  far  the  pray- 
ers of  the  mothers  at  home  reach. 

The  troubled  soul  of  Mildred  Powers 
found  rest  that  day.  When  she  came  out 
of  the  church,  an  hour  afterward,  she  did 


A   TOUCH   OF   THE   WORLD.  4OI 

not  understand  it.  She  knew  that  the  weight 
of  pain  was  gone,  but  she  supposed  it 
would  return  again.  She  knew  that  she  had 
felt  a  sudden  conviction  that  the  Saviour 
who  made  the  human  heart,  was  the 
one  on  whom  to  depend  now.  She  knew 
that  she  resolved  then  and  there  to  turn  to 
Him  and  follow  his  leading,  but  she  did  not 
understand  what  a  tremendous  difference 
this  would  make  in  all  her  after  life.  The 
weight  never  returned ;  not  as  it  had  rested 
before ;  not  even  on  this  sad  afternoon, 
when  she  stood  and  looked  out  blindly  at 
nothing.  She  knew,  even  then,  that  there 
was  an  undertone  of  melody  in  her  heart, 
the  refrain  of  which  was :  "  He  knows ;  he 
will  not  let  this  crush  me ;  he  cares ! " 

The  mother  had  understood  it  better.  She 
had  shed  tears  of  joy  when  the  sweet  letter 
came  which  told  of  her  daughter's  new 
Friend.  The  mother  had  walked  alone  in 
her  Christian  life  ever  since  the  father  went 
away.  She  had  drawn  nearer  to  Christ 
during  these  years  of  loneliness ;  and  by  so 
much  more  had  she  longed  for,  and  waited 


4O2  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

for  her  daughter.  It  seemed  wonderful  to 
her,  that,  born  of  this  trouble  which  had 
shadowed  her  like  a  pall,  had  been  this 
great  new  joy.  She  began  to  have  a  dim 
notion"  of  the  meaning  of  the  "  all  things " 
working  together. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PLEDGES. 

STILL  there  had  been  anxiety  during  all 
these  months.  The  school  term  closed, 
and  the  daughter  came  home.  Sweet,  cheer- 
ful, dutiful  as  ever,  yet  changed.  She  never 
spoke  of  Leonard  Airedale;  but  that  she 
thought  of  him,  the  mother  was  almost  sure. 
She  was  interested  in  many  of  her  old 
pursuits,  but  in  a  quieter  way  than  ever 
before.  She  cared  almost  nothing  for  the 
gay  world  around  her.  She  held  herself 
aloof  from  society  when  she  could.  She 
danced  no  more. 

"  I  think  I  don't  approve  of  it,  mamma," 
she  said,  "not  for  myself,  at  least.  I  be- 
lieve I  know  many  girls  for  whom  I  don't 
approve  of  it.  They  grow  too  fond  of  it. 
It  is  almost  an  intoxication.  I  think  they 
403 


404  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

are  led  on,  unconsciously,  to  say  and 
do  things  that  they  would  not  in  more 
sober  moments.  And,  if  some  are  so  in- 
fluenced, can  it  be  good  for  others  to  set 
them  an  example  in  that  direction?" 

All  this  was  satisfaction  to  the  mother. 
But  the  daughter's  sentence  was  apt  to  close 
with  a  gentle  little  after-thought: 

"Besides,  mamma,  I  don't  think  I  would 
i  care  to  dance,  now" 

And   that    part    the    mother  did    not  like. 

After  a  little,  she  sent  Mildred  away  to 
new  scenes'.  Fannie  Copeland  begged  for  a 
visit.  Mildred  was  "willing  to  go ;  perhaps 
the  change  would  be  good  for  her.  It  was. 
She  came  back  improved ;  energized,  per- 
haps, is  the  word.  She  had  had  little,  or 
no  idea  of  Christian  work  in  the  world. 
The  mother,  before  her,  had  none.  This 
mother  was  not  born  for  a  leader,  and 
came  in  contact  with  none  who  tried  to 
lead  her.  But  Mildred  had  evidently  re- 
ceived an  uplift  in  this  direction.  She  be- 
gan to  question  about  woman's  work.  The 
"  Woman's  Christian  Association,"  the  "  Wo- 


PLEDGES.  4O5 

man's  Christian  Temperance  Union,"  the 
"Woman's  Missionary  Society."  What  did 
all  these  mean?  How  were  they  working? 

"  Mamma,  why  are  we  not  in  them  ? " 
was  the  question  which  startled  Mrs.  Pow- 
ers. Mildred,  at  an  afternoon  picnic,  had 
been  gently  pushed  forward  into  the  work- 
ing Christian  world,  and  came  home  to  find 
her  place.  The  mother  was  pleased  and 
helpful.  She  believed  in  temperance  with  all 
her  heart.  She  believed  in  trying  to  save 
young  men.  But  she  found  herself  unwilling 
to  have  Mildred  think  of,  pray  for,  plan 
for,  one  young  man  in  Chicago.  And  that 
the  loyal,  trusting  young  heart  did  just  this, 
she  was  almost  sure.  On  the  whole,  the 
mother  could  but  feel  that  the  bit  of 
the  world  which  she  had  let  take  hold  of 
her  daughter  for  a  time,  had  sowed  its  seed, 
and  much  she  feared  the  fruit  would  be 
tares. 

Do  you  understand,  now,  why,  in  a  sense, 
this  letter  was  a  t  relief?  Leonard  Airedale 
—  who  had  presumed  to  be  liar  daughter's 
friend  —  a  forger,  a  gambler,  a  drunkard, 


406  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

was  miserable  enough.  But  Leonard  Aire- 
dale a  married  man  was  an  instant  and  in 
tense  relief.  Well  she  knew  that  girlhood, 
which  at  a  certain  age  almost  loves  to  make 
of  itself  a  martyr,  could  be  blinded  with 
high-sounding  words,  such  as  "  sacrifice,"  and 
"self-abnegation,"  and  "soul-saving."  But  a 
true,  pure-hearted  girl  would  recognize  mar- 
riage vows,  however  recklessly  taken,  as  solemn 
barriers  between  her  and  any  attempt  at 
self-sacrifice  of  the  sort  which  this  phrase 
sometimes  covers. 

I  am  glad,  though,  that  Mrs.  Powers, 
with  her  instant  sense  of  relief,  was  woman 
enough,  and  mother  enough  not  to  show  it 
just  then.  She  called  presently : 

"  Daughter,  come  here."  And  the  tone 
was  so  sweet,  and  so  full  of  tender  sympathy, 
that  Mildred  turned  instantly  and  sank 
down  in  a  wilted  little  mass  on  the  floor, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  mother's  lap. 

"It  is  a  hard  letter,  Mildred,  and  yet  a 
very  kind  one.  I  honor  the  man  who  wrote 
it,  for  not  glozing  over  the  hard  truths  in 
the  mistaken  name  of  friendship.  We  can 


PLEDGES.  407 

believe  what  he  says  in  the  future.  We 
will  try,  daughter,  to  save  the  souls  of  this 
young  man  and  woman.  We  will  try  to 
save  the  poor  wife  from  as  much  misery  as 
we  can,  shall  we  not?" 

Mrs.  Powers'  voice  was  firm  over  the 
word  "  wife."  Mildred  must,  of  course,  rec- 
ognize that  fact  from  the  first.  There  was 
no  answer.  There  was  a  long  silence — and 
there  were  no  sobs.  At  last  Mildred's 
voice  : 

"  Mamma,  do  you  think  —  I  mean,  might 
it  not  have  been  possible  that,  if  I  had 
corresponded  with  him,  and  helped  him  to 
feel  that  I  was  his  friend  through  every- 
thing, he  might  not  have  gone  in  this  way?" 

"  It  might  have  been ! "  This  was  the 
miserable  thought  which  was  evidently  tear- 
ing her  heart. 

Her  mother  made  prompt  and  decisive 
answer : 

"  My  daughter,  no.  Don't  let  Satan  wring 
your  heart  with  any  such  false  charge  as 
that.  It  is  one  of  the  most  specious  lies 
that  he  ever  invented  with  which  to  ruin 


4O8  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

poor  women.  The  young  man  who  could 
not  be  helped  by  the  memory  of  a  pure 
friendship,  and  with  the  possibility  of  a 
future  such  as  he  held  out  before  himself, 
could  have  been  only  injured  by  being 
treated  as  though  he  were  in  every  way 
worthy  of  respect  and  friendship.  Think  of 
it,  Mildred.  What  do  marriage  vows  mean 
to  him  ?  He  was  actually  planning  to  desert 
the  poor  girl  whom  he  had  ruined ! " 

"  But,  mamma,  he  was  not  himself  when 
he  married  her ! "  Mildred's  voice  was  hard. 
Her  mother's  probing  cut  her  like  a  knife. 

"My  daughter,  does  that  excuse  him? 
Will  you  think  for  a  moment  what  must 
have  passed  between  the  two,  before  they 
reached  the  point  where  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage would  have  been  possible  It  is  time, 
Mildred,  that  you  opened  your  eyes  to  this 
thing  wide  enough  to  see  that  God,  in  his^ 
mercy,  has  saved  you  from  a  bad  man.  He 
has  all  the  elements  that  go  to  make  up  a 
weak  and  wicked  character.  I  felt  it  from 
the  first,  as  you  too  would  have  done, 
had  you  not  been  young  and  trusting,  and 


PLEDGES.  409 

accustomed  to  meeting  familiarly  only  those 
worthy  of  trust.  I  prayed  God  to  open 
your  eyes.  I  take  shame  to  myself,  Mildred, 
that  I,  who  should  have  been  both  mother 
and  father  to  you,  was  so  careless  of  my 
trust,  and  let  the  world  come  in  with  its 
specious  reasoning  and  steal  away  my  dar- 
ling. I  ought  to  have  shielded  you  from 
its  snares.  I  have  wept  over  it  bitterly, 
darling,  and  I  must  continue  to  do  so ;  fcr 
I  see  the  experience  has  left  you  with  a 
sore  heart.  You  must  forgive  your  mother, 
Mildred." 

44  Mamma,  dear  mamma,  don't !  I  cannot 
bear  it.  You  never  did  anything  that  was 
not  just  right." 

Mildred  was  weeping  bitterly  now.  Her 
mother  held  her  lovingly,  and  smoothed  the 
soft  bands  of  hair,  and  murmured  tender 
words,  and  felt  keenly  that  the  world  which 
she  had  tried  to  serve,  had  cast  sharp 
thorns  into  her  darling's  experience.  But 
better  now  than  later.  Think  of  that  poor, 
sinned-against,  ignorant,  motherless  girl-wife 
in  Chicago  I 


4IO  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

While  these  experiences  were  being  lived 
in  Chicago  and  Washington,  life  at  East- 
wood was  by  no  means  at  a  stand-still. 
Satan  was  busy,  of  course.  I  have  often 
wondered  over  his  tirelessness.  Without 
doubt  the  Holy  Spirit  was  also  at  work; 
but  his  co-laborers  on  earth  were  neither  so 
numerous,  nor  so  enthusiastic,  in  many 
cases,  as  were  Satan's,  and  the  immediate 
results  were  not  so  apparent.  Still  work 
was  being  done.  For  instance  the  temper- 
ance element  had  bestirred  itself,  as  the 
immediate  outgrowth  of  those  Saturday  even- 
ing prayer  meetings,  and  inaugurated  a  'series 
of  popular  temperance  meetings ;  at  least  they 
tried  to  make  them  popular.  They  engaged 
a  fairly  good  speaker,  and  secured  one  of 
the  churches,  and,  by  dint  of  much  coaxing, 
prevailed  upon  a  number  of  young  people 
to  take  hold  of  the  singing,  and  placarded 
the  town,  giving  everybody  a  cordial  invi- 
tation to  a  gospel  temperance  meeting;  The 
evening  arrived,  so  did  the  speaker ;  the 
singers,  a  goodly  number  of  them,  were  in 
attendance,  and  sang  well ;  but  the  audience, 


PLEDGES.  411 

at  least  so  far  as  regarded  numbers,  was 
certainly  a  failure.  The  young  man  who 
had  come  to  speak  to  them,  for  no  other 
return  than  the  payment  of  his  expenses, 
had  some  good  things  to  say,  but  he  had 
to  say  them  to  many  empty  seats.  A  few 
standard  temperance  people,  such  as  are  to 
be  found  in  every  community,  were  out; 
two  ministers  were  out,  and  two  were  not, 
and  a  great  company  of  Christians  and 
nominal  temperance  people  were  at  home, 
or  somewhere  else.  This,  for  various  rea- 
sons. Some  of  them  did  not  believe  in 
temperance  apart  from  religion,  though  who 
were  anxious  that  this  temperance  effort 
should  be  considered  apart  from  religion, 
did  not  appear.  Some  were  sure  that  every- 
thing which  could  be  said  on  the  subject 
had  been  said,  and  what  was  the  use  in 
hearing  it  over  again?  Some  did  not  like 
the  speaker's  politics,  and,  though  this  was 
in  no  sense  to  be  a  political  lecture,  they 
would  have  none  of  him.  Some  asked  to 
what  denomination  he  belonged,  and,  on 
being  told,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 


412  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

remained  at  home.  Some  said :  "  What  is 
the  use?  I  have  been  to  temperance  meet- 
ings ever  since  I  was  a  child,  and  it  is  all 
talk ;  no  results  ever  appear  which  amount 
to  anything ;  for  my  part  I  am  discour- 
aged," and  they,  too,  stayed  away. 

Well,  the  people  who  came,  listened,  and 
sang,  and  did  what  they  could,  and,  at  the 
close  of  the  lecture,  the  total  abstinence 
pledge  was  circulated.  Then  began  surprises 
for  some  people.  A  few  advanced,  and  un- 
hesitatingly signed  their  names  —  good  old 
deacons  and  elders,  who  had  signed  temper- 
ance pledges  ever  since  they  were  children. 
One  minister  signed  unhesitatingly ;  the  other 
sat  still.  People  waited  for  him.  He  was 
asked  to  come  at  once,  so  there  need  be 
no  holding  back  on  his  account.  No,  he 
would  not  sign.  Why  not?  Was  he  not  a 
temperance  man  ?  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  to  the 
core.  But  he  did  not  believe  in  signing 
the  pledge.  A  man  who,  like  himself,  never 
touched  alcoholic  liquors,  and  who  settled 
this  whole  question  -  long  ago,  had  no  need 
of  pledges;  to  sign  one  would  be  a  mere 


PLEDGES.  413 

form,  and  promises  were  too  solemn  things 
to  be  made  thus  lightly !  Was  ever  such 
absurd  reasoning  known  ?  A  pledge  a  light 
thing,  because  a  man  knew  he  would  keep 
it!  Yet  this  was  what  the  minister  said. 
But  what  about  the  drinking  man,  who 
really  needed  the  help  of  the  pledge?  "No, 
it  was  worse  than  nonsense  for  him ;  he 
couldn't  keep  it,  and  knew  he  couldn't, 
and  it  was  simply  teaching  him  to  think 
lightly  of  a  promise?"  I  by  no  means  give 
you  the  entire  statement,  only  a  glance  at 
some  of  its  remarkable  logic. 

Among  those  who  wouldn't  sign  was 
Lloyd  McLean.  This  puzzled  and  troubled 
some  of  his  friends,  notably  Mr.  Cleveland 
and  Miss  Wainwright. 

"I  thought  you  were  willing  to  help 
us?"  the  former  said. 

"  So  I  am ;  and  I'm  doing  it.  Haven't  I 
sung  until  I'm  hoarse?" 

"The  singing  is  all  right;  but  just  now 
I  want  the  signing.  Why  do  you  refuse 
such  a  simple  thing?" 

"  Partly   on    account   of    its    simplicity.     It 


414  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

is  a  confession  of  weakness  which  I  do  not 
choose  to  make.  I'm  in  no  danger  from 
the  stuff,  and  I  won't  pretend  that  I  am, 
by  going  up  there  and  signing." 

"Not  even  to  help  some  one  else  who  is 
in  danger  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  have  no  influence  with  this  crowd. 
There  is  no  one  here  who  knows  me.  I 
tried  to  get  Bruce  to  come.  If  he  were 
here,  I  don't  know  what  I  might  do,"  and 
Lloyd  McLean  sighed. 

Although  he  had  do  .  conception  of  the 
danger  in  which  his  friend  stood,  still  he 
had  of  late  become  suspicious  that  all  was 
not  well  with  him  in  this  direction. 

Mr.    Cleveland  caught  at  the   hint. 

"  McLean,  he  will  hear  of  it.  He  is  sure 
to  hear  of  everything  that  is  done  at  this 
meeting.  You  can  influence  him  by  your 
action,  even  though  he  is  absent." 

But  Lloyd  shook  his  head.  No,  he  had 
always  felt  a  sort  of  prejudice  against  the 
pledge.  And  there  was  Doctor  Atwood,  who 
evidently  felt  the  same.  He  might  certainly 
be  excused  from  trying  to  make  a  parade 


PLEDGES.  415 

of  his  supposed  influence,  when  a  minister 
did  not  feel  the  responsibility. 

There  was  still  another  important  one 
who  utterly  refused  to  sign  his  name,  that 
was  John  Hartzell.  No,  he  never  meant  to 
drink  again.  He  wasn't  afraid  that  he 
should.  He  had  got  down  gretty  low,  he 
knew;  but  a  man  who  couldn't  stop  drink- 
ing when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to, 
wasn't  enough  of  a  man  to  have  any  talk 
over,  and  wasn't  going  to  be  helped,  any- 
how, by  simply  writing  his  name. 

Lloyd  McLean  was  disturbed  at  this,  and 
astonished.  Why  should  such  a  poor  wretch 
as  John  Hartzell  hesitate  when  he  had  once 
resolved  to  drop  the  stuff?  The  man  cer- 
tainly had  no  dignity  to  lose,  and  much  to 
gain,  by  the  step.  He  leaned  forward  and 
added  his  urging  to  Mr.  Cleveland's : 

"  Hartzell,  why  in  the  world  don't  you 
sign  off,  and  show  all  these  people  that 
you  mean  business  ?  " 

"Why   don't  you?" 

"  I,"  said  Lloyd,  "  why,  I  have  no  occasion. 
They  all  know  that  I  am  a  temperate  man." 


4l6  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  Then  it  won't  hurt  you  to  say  so.  You 
won't  be  singled  out  for  everybody  to  talk 
at  as  I  shall." 

"  Everybody  has  talked  at  you  for  months, 
for  the  other  thing.  Give  them  a  chance 
to  alter  the  story." 

"I  mean  tok  but  I'm  not  going  up  there 
to  put  it  down,  as  though  I  had  lost  all 
my  manhood  and  was  not  to  be  trusted 
without  that." 

"  Why,  Hartzell,"  said  Mr.  Cleveland,  in 
almost  impatience,  "I  consider  that  I  am  to 
be  trusted,  and  yet  I  was  the  first  to 
pledge  myself  to-night.  It  is  the  people 
who  mean  business  who  are  not  afraid  of 
pledges." 

"  Then  why  don't  they  all  go  up  and 
sign  it?  There  are  dozens  sitting  around 
here  to-night  who  shake  their  heads." 

"Go  up  with  him,  McLean,"  said  Mr. 
Cleveland,  "  and  show  him .  that  there  is 
one  less  head  shaken." 

But   Lloyd   drew   back. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  smiling,  yet  feeling 
annoyed  and  showing  it  in  his  tones.  "  There 


PLEDGES.  417 

is  a  great  difference  in  our  position ;  Hart- 
zell  must  know  that.  I  never  have  fallen. 
I  need  no  props  to  stand  by.  I  think  he 
is  foolish  not  to  be  helped,  when  he  has 
proved  that  he  needs  it." 

It  was  a  most  unfortunate  speech.  John 
Hartzell  drew  himself  up,  and  the  sullen 
look  deepened  on  his  face. 

*'  I'm  showing  folks  that  I  can  keep  my 
word  without  props,'"  he  said  haughtily;  "I 
have  not  drank  a  drop  in  weeks,  and  I 
don't  mean  to.  No,  Mr.  Cleveland,  there  is 
no  use  in  urging  me.  I'm  grateful  for  all 
you  have  done  for  me,  and  for  my  family, 
but  I  can't  turn  coward  to  show  my  grati- 
tude. I've  reformed,  and  there  is  no  danger 
of  my  sinking.  I  hate  my  enemies  too 
heartily  for  that." 

His  face  was  dark.  Mr.  Cleveland  turned 
away  with  a  sigh. 

"  Save  us  from  our  friends,"  he  said  to 
Miss  Wainwright,  a  few  moments  afterward, 
when  the  meeting  closed.  "  There  were 
friends  of  temperance  here  to-night  who  did 
more  harm  than  we  can  undo  in  months." 


41 8  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  What  did  that  young  McLean  say  ? "  she 
asked  him. 

"  Oh !  the  old  story.  Signing  the  pledge 
is  a  confession  of  weakness.  He  does  not 
feel  in  need  of  any  help  of  the  kind ;  he 
is  strong-willed  and  not  in  any  danger. 
Poor  fool!" 

"  Look  here,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  "  I 
wish  you  would  ask  that  young  man  to 
take  care  of  me  home  to-night.  I  can't  go 
alone,  and  he  might  as  well  walk  along 
with  me  as  anybody.  Just  ask  it  as  a 
favor.  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  him." 

Of  course,  Lloyd  McLean  was  too  gentle- 
manly to  refuse  such  a  request,  though  he 
had  other  plans.  Miss  Wainwright  was 
very  pleasant  company,  and  said  not  a  word 
about  the  temperance  meeting. 

His  nerves,  which  had  been  slightly  ruf- 
fled, were  quite  toned  down  by  the  time 
they  reached  the  old  Wainwright  homestead. 
Nor  did  he  object  in  the  least  to  waiting 
in  the  great,  cheerful  sitting-room  while 
Miss  -  Wainwright  went  for  a  book  she  had 
promised  to  send  by  him  to  Mr.  Cleveland. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

LIGHT   OUT  OF  DARKNESS. 

SHE    returned    in    a    few    moments    with 
more    than    the    book.     In     her     hand 
she  held  an  old-fashioned  daguerreotype  case. 

"Do  you  know  who  that  is?"  she  asked, 
as  she  laid  it  open  on  the  table  before 
him. 

A  bright,  boyish  face  looked  out  at  him, 
and  the  gay,  half-mocking  smile  on  the 
mouth  seemed  meant  for  him.  He  gave  a 
start  of  surprise,  almost  of  dismay,  as  he 
gazed.  It  was  impossible  not  to  recognize 
in  the  features  a  strongly-marked  likeness 
to  himself,  so  strongly  marked,  indeed,  that 
for  a  moment  it  seemed  almost  as  though 
it  must  have  been  taken  for  his  own  pict- 
ure, save  that  the  costume  of  the  sitter 
was  quaint  and  unfamiliar. 
419 


42O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked,  quickly.  "Where 
did  it  come  from?  My  dear  Miss  Wain- 
wright,  are  you  a  wizard,  capable  of  spirit- 
ing a  fellow  back  into  the  years  which 
were  lived  before  he  came  on  the  stage? 
This  looks  as  though  I  might  have  been 
here  in  person  forty  years  ago,  though  I 
don't  remember  it." 

"  You  notice  the  resemblance,  then  ?  It 
is  very  striking.  Can't  you  imagine  whose 
it  is?  Did  you  never  see  a  picture  of  your 
father  when  he  was  a  young  man ! " 

"Of  my  father?"  The  light  tone  changed 
to  one  of  astonishment,  and  asked,  as  plainly 
as  words  could  have  done,  "  What  can  you 
possibly  be  doing  with  my  father's  picture?" 

"It  is  a  very  good  likeness  of  him  as  he 
was,  not  quite  forty  years  ago.  Now,  you 
want  to  ask  questions.  Where  did  I  get 
it?  What  right  have  I  to  keep  it?  There 
is  a  story  connected  with  that  picture, 
young  man,  which  I  did  not  suppose  I 
should  ever  tell ;  but  I  am  going  to.  I 
came  honestly  by  the  picture.  He  gave  it 
to  me  himself,  when  he  was  younger,  I 


LIGHT   OUT   OF    DARKNESS.  421 

think,  than  you  are  now.  We  were  friends 
from  childhood,  James  and  I.  We  studied 
together,  and  swung  together,  and  whispered 
together,  and  as  we  grew  older  the  friend- 
ship grew  stronger.  If  you  had  known 
3*our  father  when  I  knew  him,  you  would 
not  need  to  have  me  tell  you  how  winning 
and  bright  and  noble  he  was.  One  of  the 
most  unselfish  characters  I  have  ever  known. 
He  was  more  to  me  than  any  friend  I 
ever  had.  Yet  there  was  something  in  the 
way  of  our  friendship — something  that  grew 
between  us.  It  seemed  at  first  like  such  a 
very  little  thing.  I  had  no  idea  it  would 
separate  us.  There  was,  in  the  town  where 
I  lived,  what  might  have  been  called  a 
temperance  revival — crowded  meetings  every 
evening,  and  throngs  going  up  to  sign  the 
total  abstinence  pledge.  My  father  was  one 
of  the  most  earnest  workers;  so  was  I.  I 
was  brought  up  to  it.  One  evening  I  dis- 
covered that  Ja'mes  had  not  yet  put  his 
name  to  the  pledge-book.  I  asked  him  to 
place  it  on  my  book.  The  young  people 
were  each  trying  to  see  how  many  signers 


422  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

they  could  get.  To  my  astonishment  James 
refused  to  sign.  We  talked  long  together. 
He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  drinking  any- 
thing stronger  than  cider.  In  those  days 
everybody  drank  that.  He  said  he  had  no 
wish  to  drink '  anything  stronger.  And  yet 
he  would  not  sign  the  pledge !  We  talked 
about  it  a  great  deal.  Evening  after  even- 
ing it  was  the  subject  of  conversation  be- 
tween us.  I  exhausted  all  the  arguments  I 
could  think  of,  and  James  only  seemed  to 
grow  more  determined.  There  is  a  great 
deal  about  it  that  you  do  not  care  to  hear; 
but  at  last  it  separated  us.  I  told  him 
that  a  man  who  would  not  yield  such  a 
point  as  that  for  me,  could  not  really  care 
for  me  as  he  thought  he  did.  He  went 
away  from  that  town  soon  after.  He  parted 
from  me  in  anger,  and  I  never  saw  him 
again.  There  were  letters,  and  books,  and 
various  keepsakes,  which  went  back  to  him 
—  only  this  one  little  picture  was  over- 
looked. I  am  more  than  fifty  years  old, 
but  I  have  never  had  another  friend  who 
was  to  me  anything  like  what  James 


LIGHT   OUT   OF    DARKNESS.  423 

McLean  was  once.  Perhaps  you  can  forgive 
an  old  woman  like  me  for  taking  a  very 
deep  interest  in  his  boy?" 

There  was  a  wistful  smile  on  her  face, 
and  almost  a  pleading  look  in  the  eyes 
that  bent  an  earnest  gaze  on  the  young 
man.  He  looked  up  at  last,  and  smiled, 
and  tried  to  speak  indifferently. 

" 1  thank  you,  I  am  sure,  for  your  inter- 
est; and  I  thank  you  for  your  confidence. 
But  I  want  to  ask  you  if,  now,  after  the 
lapse  of  years,  you  don't  think  you  were 
hard  on  my  father?  Should  a  good,  true 
man  be  thrown  aside  merely  for  the  whim 
of  another*  because  he  differs  from  her  and 
has  certainly  as  good  a  right  to  an  opinion 
as  she?  That  seems  to  me,  to  say  the 
least,  a  one-sided  trust." 

The  kind  gray  eyes  watching  him  grew 
grave  enough  during  the  impetuous  sentence. 
Miss  Wainwright  laid  her  hand  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder,  and  spoke  with  a 
quietness  which  contrasted  strongly  with  his 
excitement. 

"My  boy,   you    mistake.     It  was    principle 


424  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

on  the  one  side,  and  confessed  indifference 
on  the  other.  I  believed  that  it  was  wrong 
for  a  young  man  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
others,  even  if  safe  himself;  and  he  believed 
in  proving  his  power  over  his  own  will,  by 
leaving  it  untrainmeled  by  pledge  of  any 
sort.  Yet  he  did  not  reason  in  that  way 
about  other  things ;  he  was  willing  and 
anxious  to  take  upon  him  marriage  vows. 
He  did  not  say  that  I  did  not  trust  him, 
because  I  expected  him  to  pledge  himself 
to  me  before  the  world.  But  there  is  one 
hard  question  which  I  must  ask  you.  Did 
your  father's  life  prove  that  I  was  mistaken, 
or  unreasonable  in  my  demand  ?  * 

The  brown  head  of  the  young  man  dropped 
lower,  and  he  had  no  answer  to  give.  He 
had  passed  through  humiliating  scenes  in 
his  own  home  of  which  she  knew  nothing. 
It  would  not  do  to  say  that  his  father  had 
needed  no  safeguards  —  had  been  equal  to 
the  temptations  and  snares  spread  for  him. 

Lloyd  McLean  rose  at  last,  and  held  out 
his  hand  with  a  smile  to  the  woman  who 
was  watching  him. 


LIGHT    OUT    OF    DARKNESS.  425 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said  again.  *'  Perhaps 
you  are  right.  At  least "  —  and  now  the 
smile  faded  — "  at  least,  if  a  pledge  would 
have  done  my  father  any  good,  I  wish  that 
he  had  signed  one.  His  was  a  sad  story." 

"There  are  other  young  men,  remember, 
and  your  influence  is  helping  or  hindering 
them.  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  which 
it  is  to  be?  Besides,  I  hold  it  folly  in 
these  days  for  any  man  not  to  use  all  the 
safeguards  that  he  can.  James  McLean  was 
the  last  person  who  would  have  been  se- 
lected as  one  in  special  danger.  Will  you 
help  us  all  you  can?" 

He   smiled   again. 

"  In   your   way,  you   mean,   I    suppose  ? " 

"  Yes ;  in  my  way,  and  your  way,  and 
every  way  that  will  not  be  absolutely 
wrong.  You  do  not  think  it  really  would 
be  doing  wrong  to  sign  a  total  abstinence 
pledge?" 

"  Not   wrong,  perhaps,  but   foolish." 

"-Well,  are  you  not  willing  to  be  fool- 
ish, if  you  can  help  to  save  even  such  a 
wreck  of  a  man  as  poor  John  Hartzell? 


426  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Won't  you  give  an  old  woman  your  prom- 
•ise?" 

"  I  will  think  of  it,"  he  answered ;  and 
then  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  May  I  have 
this  picture,  Miss  Wainwright  ?  " 

She  hesitated,  poor  lonely  lady !  She  had 
not  shown  this  boy  very  much  of  her  heart. 
She  had  not  told  him  what  she  could  have 
told  about  that  early  friendship,  about  those 
early  hopes.  How  could  she  help  hesitating? 
Yet  here  stood  his  son.  Was  not  the 
father's  picture  his  by  right? 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  said  it  cheerfully. 
"  It  is  a  good,  noble  face.  I  hope  it  will 
do  you  good  to  look  at  it.  And  I  hope 
you  will  trust  your  father's  friend.  I  never 
left  his  name  out  of  my  prayers  until  God 
took  him.  Will  you  tell  me  one  thing 
which  I  have  wanted  to  know  ?  Will  you 
tell  me  how  he  died  ? " 

"  He  died  on  his  knees,  Miss  Wainwright. 
His  last  words  were  a  prayer." 

"  Thank  the  Lord,"  said  the  listener,  her 
voice  trembling  and  her  eyes  dim  with 
tears.  The  son  went  away  then.  He  brushed 


LIGHT   OUT   OF    DARKNESS.  427 

the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  he 
held  the  little  old  daguerreotype  case  ten- 
derly; he  had  loved  his  father.  The  story 
given  him  to-night  furnished  a  key  to  words 
which  his  father  had  once  spoken :  "  A  fit 
of  obstinacy  ruined  me,  my  boy."  He  had 
wondered  over  it  at  the  time  and  often 
since.  His  father  had  not  seemed  to  him 
obstinate ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  weakly 
yielding.  This  must  have  been  the  one 
time  to  which  he  looked  back  and  counted 
his  ruin.  Was  he  weak,  he  wondered,  like 
his  father?  Was  what  he  called  strong  will 
merely  fits  of  obstinacy? 

Miss  Wainwright  went  with  quiet  step 
about  her  house,  closing  it  for  the  night  — 
an  unusual  pallor  on  her  face ;  an  empty 
drawer  in  the  farthest  corner  of  her  sec- 
retary. She  felt  as  though  the  one  little 
link  that  had  bound  her  to  a  tender  past 
was  broken  now;  the  little  old  picture  was 
gone ;  surrendered  to  one  who  had  a  better 
right.  He  had  not  known  what  it  had  cost 
her  to  give  it.  How  should  a  heart  at  twen- 
ty know  what  a  heart  at  fifty  can  feel? 


428  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Nevertheless,  this  woman  knelt,  presently, 
with  quiet  face  and  voice,  to  thank  God 
for  that  one  who,  years  before,  had  spent 
his  last  breath  in  a  prayer.  Her  heart  had 
long  since  been  stayed  on  God. 

The  days  lengthened  into  weeks,  and 
passed,  leaving  Kate  Hartzell  still  at  her 
vigils.  The  message  which  Holly  had  sent 
her  from  his  father  as  to  the  possibility  of 
the  sick  man  understanding  something  of 
what  was  going  on  about  him,  had  sunken 
into  her  heart.  She  had  grasped  hold  of 
it  until  in  her  long  night  watches  it  be- 
came not  only  a  hope,  but  a  settled  con- 
viction, on  which  she  leaned.  Part  of  every 
night  she  spent  alone  by  her  father's 
bed.  Part  of  that  time  she  spent  in  read- 
ing aloud  in  a  slow,  distinct  tone,  verses 
from  the  Bible.  Verses  carefully  selected, 
with  a  view  to  bringing  light  to  a  dark 
soul :  "  All  have  sinned  and  come  short  of 
the  glory  of  God."  "The  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ  his  Son  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin." 
"  He  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  that 
come  unto  God  by  him."  "  Jesus  Christ, 


LIGHT   OUT   OF   DARKNESS.  429 

the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever." 
"  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
"  See  that  ye  refuse  not  him  that  speaketh." 
**  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be 
as  white  as  snow."  These  were  some  of  the 
verses  often  repeated,  which  filled  the  dark- 
ened, quiet  room  night  after  night.  Part 
of  the  time  Kate  knelt  in  prayer.  Slow- 
spoken,  simple,  distinct  petitions,  such  as  a 
weak  and  weary  brain  might  possibly  follow: 
"  Lord,  save  my  father.  Forgive  him  now. 
Wash  his  heart  in  the  blood  of  Jesus. 
Help  him  to  pray."  Over  and  over,  and 
over  again,  did  these  cries  ascend  to  God 
—  the  petitioner  always  buoyed  up  by  a 
twofold  hope. 

"Perhaps  he  hears  me,  perhaps  his  heart 
will  take  up  the  cry;  but,  if  not,  certainly 
God  hears." 

So  praying,  so  working,  so  waiting,  I  can 
not  say  that  she  was  surprised,  one  night, 
while  she  was  still  on  her  knees,  to  hear 
beside  her  low  words  from  the  man  who 
ban  been  so  long  silent. 


43°  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  I  hear,    Kate  ;    go   on." 

And  Kate,  trembling,  scarce  able  to  con- 
trol her  voice,  went  on : 

"  Oh,  Father  in  Heaven,  tajce  my  father, 
just  as  he  is,  into  thy  love.  Forgive  him, 
save  him,  because  Jesus  died  for  just  such 
as  he." 

"  Kate,"  said  the  voice  again,  "  that 
prayer  about  a  sinner." 

And  Kate  prayed :  "  God  be  merciful  to 
him  a  sinner." 

On  the  night  when  she  first  began  to  pray 
aloud,  she  had  cried  that  sentence,  over  and 
over,  arid  over  again,  into  the  ears  of  God. 
Her  faith  had  not  at  that  time  taken  strong 
hold  of  the  hope  that  her  father  would  hear, 
only  that  God  would.  Now  it  seemed  that 
he  had  not  only  heard,  but  had  spoken  to 
the  dulled  ears  on  the  bed  and  bade  them 
listen. 

"That  is  it,"  old  Joel  Hartzell  said; 
"God  —  be  —  merciful — to  — me — a — sinner." 

He  spoke  the  words  slowly,  with  long 
pauses  between  each  one.  Then,  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  repeated  them. 


NIGHT  OUT   OF  DARKNESS.  431 

«*  O,  father  I "  Kate  said,  but  he  only 
answered : 

"Go   on,    Kate." 

And  Kate  prayed.  He  dropped  into  sleep 
or  stupor,  or  whatever  it  was,  after  a  few 
minutes,  and  Mrs.  John  Hartzell,  when  she 
came  to  relieve  the  watcher,  saw  no  change 
from  what  had  been  for  days.  But  Kate, 
as  she  went  to  lie  down  on  the  cot  which 
had  been  brought  for  her  comfort,  said  to 
herself: 

"  If  he  never  speaks  again,  I  shall  have 
a  little  faint  hope." 

And  then  she  lay  down,  indeed ;  but  in- 
stead of  sleeping,  she  prayed,  as  she  had 
never  been  able  to  before.  •  She  felt  as 
though  God  had  spoken  to  her  with  an  ear- 
nest of  what  his  grace  and  power  might  do. 

It  proved  that  that  night  was  the  turn- 
ing-point in  the  disease  which  had  taken 
hold  of  Joel  Hartzell's  wrecked  frame.  He 
spoke  several  times  thereafter.  In  fact,  the 
very  next  morning,  when  Mrs.  Hartzell  came 
to  waken  Kate,  her  eyes  showed  plainly 
that  she  had  been  crying ;  but  she  said : 


432  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  Don't  you  think,  Kate,  that  father  spoke 
to  me  in  the  night !  And  he  knew  me, 
too.1' 

Now,  Mrs.  Hartzell  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  saying  "father."  The  nearest  she  had 
approached  to  it  had  been  to  say  "John's 
father."  She  had  always  felt  a  resentful 
feeling  toward  the  father,  as  though  he  were 
the  one  most  to  blame  in  dragging  her  hus- 
band down.  Therefore,  the  tone  in  which 
she  said  the  word  this  morning,  told  to 
Kate  that  in  some  way  what  had  passed 
during  the  night  had  touched  her  heart. 
After  that,  there  were  not  many  nights. 
The  disease  had  spent  itself;  but  the  body 
was  worn  out,  and  would  not  rally. 

Doctor  Copeland  shook  his  head  next  morn- 
ing when  he  saw  the  change,  and  the  wide- 
open  eyes. 

"  The  poor  fellow  is  going,"  he  said  to 
Mr.  Cleveland,  who  had  called  to  see  if 
there  were  any  change. 

They  stood  outside  and  talked  it  over. 
The  plans  for  the  coffin  and  the  funeral. 

"It   will    be    rapid   work,    now,"   the    doc- 


NIGHT  OUT   OF   DARKNESS.  433 

tor  said.  "Poor  old  fellow!  Murder,  it 
ought  to  be  called ;  but  it  will  sound  more 
respectable  to  say  fever."  And  he  sighed. 

Not  many  nights  left,  but  Kate  will  never 
forget  them.  The  father  lay  quiet,  and  she 
read  and  prayed.  Only  the  tone  of  her 
prayer  changed,  because  once  after  she  had 
repeated  the  words,  "He  is  able  to  save  to 
the  uttermost  all  that  come  unto  God  by 
him,"  poor  old  Joel  had  said: 

"  Kate,  that  is  true.  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  that  anybody  could  save  old  Joe 
Hartzell ;  he  was  too  much  for  any  man, 
but  God  has  done  it." 

After  that,  Kate  dropped  on  her  knees, 
and  her  prayer  began : 

"  Father  in  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  for  thy 
power  and  thy  grace  and  thy  love." 

And   old   Joe   said   distinctly  :    "  Amen  ! " 

It  was  just  as  the  gray  light  o*f  a  new 
morning  was  coming  up  over  the  town, 
that  he  stirred  a  little  in  his  sleep,  and 
threw  up  one  hand  slightly,  and  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  Kate  and  said,  in  clear 
tones: 


434  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  Able   to   save !  *' 

And  then  the  wide-open  eyes  were  set  on 
something  that  Kate  did  not  see,  and  the 
old  worn,  sin-marked  face  grew  strangely 
still,  and  Kate  bending  over  him,  bending 
close,  saw  that  no  breath  flickered  the  flame 
of  the  candle  which  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  Kate,"  said  John  Hartzell,  just  at  the 
door,  "it  is  morning;  I  will  come  in  and 
sit  with  father  for  a  while,  and  let  you 
rest." 

And   Kate   turned  toward   him  and   smiled. 

"  John,"  she  said,  "  it  is  morning  with 
father." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

OVERDOING. 

WHILE  all  these  varied  experiences 
were  being  lived  in  the  Hartzell 
home,  and  in  the  home  at  Washington,  and 
in  the  boarding  houses  of  Chicago,  life  by 
no  means  stood  still  with  others  of  our 
acquaintance.  Fannie.  Copeland,  for  instance, 
was  passing  through  an  experience  which 
seemed  to  her  to  be  all  rose  color.  The 
days  were  spent  in  getting  rested,  after  an 
evening  of  pleasure ;  and  in  getting  ready 
for  another  of  the  same  character.  One  of 
those  spasms  of  activity  which  seem  to 
take  hold  occasionally  of  aristocratic  old 
towns  like  Eastwood,  and  to  manage  them 
like  an  epidemic,  had  seized  upon  them. 
Eastwood  was  gay.  That  seemed  to  be  the 
fashionable  name  for  it ;  and  Fannie  Cope- 
435 


ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


land  was  in  the  fashion.  She  had  sprung 
into  it  full  fledged  like  a  newly-made  butter- 
fly. At  Josie  Fleming's  party,  certain  in 
the  fashionable  set  had  discovered  that  she 
was  pretty,  and  well-mannered  and  graceful, 
and  the  gentlemen  liked  her,  and  she 
helped  to  entertain  some  who  had  hereto- 
fore been  hard  to  entertain  ;  and  she  was 
Doctor  Copeland's  daughter,  and  ought  to 
be  noticed,  so  they  noticed  her.  A  tea 
party  to-day,  a  ride  to-morrow,  a  social 
evening  with  a  few  friends  the  next  day, 
and  the  days  flew  by.  To  each  and  all  of 
these  gatherings  came  Eben  Bruce.  For  the 
explanation  of  '  his  sudden  freedom  from 
business  restraints  and  the  lavish  expend- 
itures in  which  he  joined,  I  shall  have  to 
go  back  a  little  and  tell  you  of  an  added 
misfortune  which  has  recently  befallen  him. 
There  was  a  certain  well-to-do  old  uncle, 
his  mother's  brother,  on  whom  neither  Eben 
nor  his  mother  had  built  a  single  hope, 
for  the  reason  that  the  crusty  old  man  was 
offended  with  them  both.  He  had  earned 
a  fair  sum  of  money  in  the  soap  business, 


OVERDOING.  437 

and,  having  no  sons  of  his  own,  was  willing 
to  help  his  nephew  into  a  comfortable  posi- 
tion in  the  same  establishment  where  he 
commenced  life.  He  took  care  to  explain 
the  successive  steps  by  which  Eben  might 
rise  to  having  an  acknowledged  name  in 
the  firm  and  a  voice  in,  its  decisions. 

But  Eben  hated  the  sight  and  the  sound 
and  the  smell  of  soap.  He  would  make 
no  promises,  offer  no  thanks,  feel  no  grati- 
tude. He  never  could  or  would  be  a  soap 
dealer.  He  wanted  to  be  a  physician,  and 
a  physician  he  meant  to  be.  His  mother 
was  partly  on  his  side,  and  partly  on  the 
brother's.  When  she  talked  with  Eben  she 
spoke  boldly  of  the  money  advantages  of 
such  an  offer,  and  of  the  possibility  that 
the  uncle,  having  no  son,  and  only  one 
daughter  of  his  own,  might  leave  his  nephew 
a  handsome  little  sum  to  help  him  increase 
his  business.  When  she  talked  with  the 
uncle,  she  hinted  at  the  greater  respect- 
ability of  a  profession,  and  the  evident 
talent  that  Eben  had  for  professional  life. 
The  question  was  an  open  one  for  so  many 


438  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

months,  that  finally  all  parties  grew  irrita- 
ble under  the  strain.  Eben  declared  himself 
sick  and  tired  of  the  whole  ill-smelling 
subject,  and  hoped  that  nothing  would  ever 
be  said  about  it  again  in  his .  presence ; 
Mrs.  Bruce  alternately  told  her  son  that 
he  had  no  regard  for  his  mother's  comfort, 
and  her  brother  that  he  had  no  sympathy 
with  a  talented  young  man's  aspirations 
after  something  higher.  The  uncle  finally 
closed  the  mutter  by  declaring  that  his 
nephew  might  aspire  to  the  moon  if  he 
wanted  to,  and  turn  pill-vender  as  quick 
as  he  pleased,  but  he  need  not  then,  nor 
ever,  expect  a  penny's  worth  of  help  from 
him. 

And,  to  do  them  justice,  they  did  not. 
Eben  secured  a  clerkship,  and  spent  his 
evenings  in  earnest  work  over  medical 
books ;  and,  up  to  the  day  when  he  attended 
the  picnic  in  such  company  as  Satan,  being 
on  the  alert,  furnished  for  him,  while  the 
Lord's  servants  were  busy  here  and  there, 
had  held  steadily  to  his  purpose.  But  the 
uncle,  as  the  years  went  by,  buried  his 


OVERDOING.  439 

daughter  and  then  his  wife,  and  finally, 
when  in  a  sudden  accident  he  lost  his  life 
while  trying  to  save  another,  it  was  found 
that  his  will,  carefully  made  and  deposited 
in  his  lawyer's  safe,  dated  but  a  few  days 
after  his  wife's  death,  left  all  his  nice  little 
property  to  his  nephew,  Eben  Bruce. 

News  of  this  sudden  uplift  in  his  affairs 
followed  hard  on  the  telegram  which  an- 
nounced the  uncle's  death.  So  Eben  Bruce, 
who  had  not  intended  to  take  the  long 
journey,  changed  his  mind,  threw  up  his 
clerkship,  and  he  and  his  mother  went,  in 
deep  mourning,  to  the  funeral  of  the  soap- 
dealer.  It  might  not  be  a  pleasant  way  to 
make  money,  but  the  money  proved  to  be 
very  pleasant  to  spend,  after  it  was  made. 

Life  is  certainly  a  great  bewilderment.  I 
often  wonder  what  the  hard-working  men 
would  say  if  they  could  suddenly  come  back 
among  the  living  and  see  the  ways  in  which 
their  fortunes  are  being  used.  One  cannot 
help  honoring  the  old  uncle  for  choking 
down  his  anger  and  his  sense  of  ill-treat- 
ment, and  making  his  nephew  his  heir;  yet 


44O  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

I  suppose  that  of  all  the  misfortunes  which 
happened  to  Eben  Bruce  that  winter,  the 
most  to  be  regretted  was  the  one  which 
brought  him  into  possession  of  a  small 
fortune  to  do  with  as  he  would.  The  spirit 
which  had  been  recently  roused  in  him,  was 
just  the  one  to  be  fostered  by  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  money  without  working 
for  it;  and  unlimited  time  at  his  disposal. 
He  began  well.  He  sat  his  mother  at  ease 
in  a  boarding-house  that  was  suited  to  her 
taste,  with  a  comfortable  bank  account  for 
her  use ;  then  he  went  back  to  Eastwood 
and  made  prompt  arrangements  to  enter 
Doctor  Copeland's  office  as  a  student.  It 
was  found  to  be  eminently  convenient  for 
Doctor  Copeland  to  have  his  medical  stu- 
dent board  with  him ;  so  this  change  was 
effected.  Lloyd  McLean  looked  on  at  the 
packing,  and  even  assisted  in  the  prepara- 
tions for  his  room-mate's  flitting,  making,  the 
while,  certain  dolorous,  and  the  same  time 
comic  speeches  which  covered  a  sigh  over 
the  easier  lot  of  his  fellow-student. 

"  Well,    old   fellow,    good-by,"    he   said,   as 


OVERDOING.  441 

they  swung  the  old  hair  trunk  into  the 
hall  and  watched  the  porter  down  stairs. 
"  This  is  the  last  of  you ;  one  of  these 
days,  I  suppose,  I  shall  wait  for  five  mortal 
hours  in  your  reception-room  waiting  my 
turn  to  consult  the  great  Doctor  Bruce,  and 
my  errand  will  be  to  see  if  you  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  lend  a  poor  student  a  work 
on  corns,  or  bunions,  or  something  or  other, 
that  he  may  study  up  a  case.  I  shall  be 
gray  by  that  time,  and  worn  to  a  skeleton, 
but  I  shall  just  have  reached  the  happy 
hour  when  I  can  give  all  my  time  to  the 
aforesaid  work,  with  no  money  with  which 
to  buy  it ;  and  I  shall  look  up  at  you  with 
tears  in  my  eyes,  and  say,  Sir,  I  remem- 
ber you  in  your  earlier  days,  before  the 
sun  of  prosperity  had  dawned  upon  you; 
in  memory  of  those  old  times  when  we 
used  to  eat  hash  and  codfish-balls  together, 
I  trust  you  will  lend  me  the  book." 

And  so,  with  much  laughter  and  nonsense, 
these  two  who  had  been  intimately  associ- 
ated for  several  months,  shook  hands,  and 
their  lives  separated. 


442  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

i 

This  will  account,  in  part,  for  the  fact 
that  Eben  Bruce  ran  down  rapidly,  without 
the  knowledge  of  his  friend.  It  was  easier 
to  do  it  now.  The  medical  student  occu- 
pied the  room  adjoining  the  doctor's  office, 
and  let  himself  in  at  any  hour  of  the 
night,  disturbing  no  one,  and  appeared 
always  at  the  breakfast-table,  hollow-eyed,  it 
is  true,  and  looking  wretchedly  overworked, 
calling  upon  himself  the  sympathies  of  the 
family,  and  the  warning  of  the  busy  doctor 
not  to  study  late,  it  did  not  pay  in  the 
end.  It  was  not  that  Eben  Bruce  intended 
to  ruin  himself.  It  was  not  that  he  sought 
out  evilv  companions  and  went  to  ruin  with 
them.  He  drank,  for  the  most  part,  alone. 
It  was  not  that  he  drank  what  most  men 
would  call  to  excess.  It  was  simply  that 
his  sensitively  organized,  easily  excited  brain 
rebelled  against  the  smallest  portion  of  liquid 
fire.  It  was  simply  an  unnatural  taste  for 
alcohol  which  had  slumbered  all  unsuspected 
in  his  brain,  and  which  had  been  handed 
down  to  him  through  generations  of  men 
who  were  not  drunkards,  but  who  took 


OVERDOING.  443 

beer,  and  wine,  and  brandy  as  tonics,  re- 
spectably under  the  physician's  orders.  Poor 
Eben  Bruce,  with  his  finer  nerves  and  his 
higher  grade  of  intellect,  and  his  keener 
sensibilities,  could  not  take  these  things  as 
tonics  —  could  not  be  respectable  even  under 
the  physician's  orders.  His  mother  was  at 
fault.  She  had  sipped  her  beer  when  he 
was  a  creeping  baby,  to  give  her  strength 
to  care  for  him.  He  never  thought  of  blam- 
ing his  mother  for  the  fire  that  burned  in 
his  veins,  and  had  roused  into  power  with 
the  first  taste  of  alcohol.  Blessed  ignorance 
of  babyhood !  he  did  not  know  that  she 
was  to  blame.  Miserable  ignorance  of  moth- 
erhood !  She  did  not  know  it  either. 
Neither  did  she  know  that  he  was  going 
swiftly  down.  She  rejoiced  over  him  during 
these  days.  They  were  all  ignorant  together. 
Have  you  never  looked  on  with  wide-open 
eyes  that  wondered  and  wondered  at  the 
blindness  of  some  concerning  their  nearest 
and  dearest? 

Least   of  all   did    Fannie   Copeland    under- 
stand.    She    knew  that    her    father's   medical 


ONE.  COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


student  was  coming  daily  into  closer  rela- 
tions with  her.  That  he  had  dropped  the 
formal  "  Miss  Copeland  "  ;  she  was  "  Fan- 
nie "  to  him  now.  In  fact,  occasionally, 
when  they  were  quite  alone,  he  had  sur- 
prised her  in  some  moment  of  excitement 
over  a  discussion,  by  an  eager  "  My  dear 
Fannie,"  she  had  blushed,  and  tried  to  look 
unconscious  over  this  slip  of  the  tongue,  but 
acknowledged  to  herself  that  it  was  a  very 
sweet  slip,  and  he  spoke  the  words  as 
though  they  might  have  meant  a  good  deal 
to  him.  And  so  the  sweet  dream  went  on. 
The  mother  looked  on,  not  altogether  un- 
anxious.  She  asked  the  doctor  whether  his 
student  was  perfectly  satisfactorj',  and  how 
long  it  would  be  before  he  could  begin  to 
practice  ;  and  just  what  was  the  sum  his 
uncle  left  him?  Occasionally  she  said  to 
herself  with  a  half  sigh,  that  Fannie  was 
so  pretty  and  so  bright,  she  had  hoped,  or 
rather  she  had  fancied  —  and  then  she  did 
not  tell  even  herself  what  she  had  fancied, 
but  said  hastily,  "No  matter,  if  they  are 
really  attached  to  each  other,  and  he  is  a 


OVERDOING.  445 

good  young  man,  why,  happiness  is  the 
best  thing,  after  all."  And  she  thought 
tenderly  of  her  own  poor  doctor,  who  had 
never  yet  seen  the  year  in  which  he  did 
not  have  to  plan  carefully  so  as  to  hold 
up  his  head  out  of  debt,  when  the  annual 
looking  over  of  accounts  fell  due.  This 
woman  had  had  other  opportunities,  more 

• 

brilliant,  but  she  thought  of  them  with  a 
smile,  and  knew  that  one  day  with  the 
doctor  was  worth  them  all.  It  might  be 
the  same  with  Fannie.  And  she  did  not 
touch  by  so  much  as  a  heart-throb  the  one 
element  in  the  case  which  might  mean  mis- 
ery and  danger  for  Fannie. 

The  doctor  was  equally  blind.  More  so, 
indeed.  Man-like,  he  looked  upon  his  daugh- 
ter Fannie  as  a  child  under  her  mother's 
care.  Eben  Bruce's  attentions  were  the  nat- 
ural outgrowth  of  the  native  politeness  of 
a  young  fellow  whom  circumstances  had 
thrown  into  daily  contact  with  the  child. 
Nothing  was  serious,  except  the  cases  of 
fever  and  lung  troubles  which  he  had  on 
hand  just  now,  and  which  kept  him  busy 


446  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

all  day,  and  anxious  day  and  night.  Per- 
haps the  boy  Holly  was  the  only  one  who 
could  be  said  to  be  wide  awake.  With  the 
peculiar  instinct  which  is  sometimes  so 
marked  in  thoughtful  boys,  he  held  aloof 
from  Eben  Bruce.  Not  that  he  disliked  him, 
or  was  rude  to  him,  or,  indeed,  had  much 
to  do  with  him  in  any  way ;  he  seemed 
simply  to  stand  apart  and  watch  him. 

"  Why  doesn't  Bruce  go  to  the  temper- 
ance meetings?"  he  asked,  one  day,  sud- 
denly, as  the  family  lingered  at  the  tea- 
table,  waiting  for  the  belated  doctor,  to 
finish  his  meal.  The  student  had  excused 
himself,  and  gone  to  the  office  to  execute 
a  commission  for  the  doctor. 

"To  the  temperance  meetings?"  repeated  his 
sister.  "  What  meetings  ?  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"Why,  down  in  the  hall.  They  have 
them  every  Friday  night ;  good  ones,  too. 
Ever  so  many  people  sign  the  pledge.  If 
you  were  not  so  busy  going  to  parties,  and 
things,  you  would  know  all  about  them." 

*'  Do  }-ou  think  Mr.  Bruce  in  special  need 
of  attending  the  meetings,  my  boy?" 


OVERDOING.  447 

It  was  Mrs.  Copeland  who  asked  the  ques- 
tion ;  her  voice  pleasant,  her  eyes  smiling ; 
she  did  not  know  enough  about  the  young 
man's  habits  to  even  imagine  that  there 
might  be  a  sting  in  the  question. 

Holly  sent  a  swift  look  after  his  sister, 
and  spoke  quickly : 

"Why,  mother,  as  to  that,  I  think  there 
is  special  need  of  everybody  going.  Mr. 
Cleveland  goes,  and  young  McLean,  and 
hosts  of  men  who  never  drink  at  all." 

"They  are  trying  to  save  the  drunkards. 
A  kind  effort,  certainly,  but  it  seems  to 
me  rather  a  hopeless  one." 

The  mother's  voice  was  still  composed. 
She  had  no  drunkard  tft  save  ;  she  had  only 
a  passing  interest  in  any  effort  of  the  kind. 

Holly  hesitated ;  there  was  something  he 
wanted  to  say,  but  he  was  not  sure  of 
the  wisdom  or  the  kindness  of  it.  Still  he 
ventured. 

'*  I  guess  they  are  trying  to  save  some 
who  may  be  drunkards  when  they  get  older, 
if  they  don't  get  started  right  now.  I  know 
one  thing ;  if  I  were  a  girl,  I  wouldn't 


448  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

have  anything  to  do  with  a  fellow  who 
wouldn't  sign  the  pledge.  Not  in  these 
times." 

Fannie  laughed,  though  there  was  a  jar- 
ring note  in  the  laughter. 

"  Why,  Holly,"  she  said,  "  have  you  been 
engaged  to  champion  the  cause  ?  Seems  to 
me  you  are  rather  young  for  a  lecturer." 

"I'm  not  too  young  to  coax  people  to 
sign  the  pledge.  I  urged  Mr.  Bruce  for 
half  an  hour,  yesterday,  and  he  refused." 

"Why  did  you  particularly  want  him  to 
sign?" 

Mrs.  Copeland  was  the  questioner.  Her 
voice  simply  expressed  amusement.  The 
zeal  of  this  young  champion  for  temperance 
was  not  all  unpleasant  to  her,  but  seemed 
to  have  the  natural,  overdrawn  element  of 
youth  in  it. 

"  Why,  mother,  for  the  same  reason  that 
I  asked  others.  To  get  his  name  and  his 
influence  on  the  right  side.  And  because"  — 
the  truthful  boy  hesitated,  and  his  cheeks 
flushed ;  there  was  another  reason  — "  be- 
cause I  thought  he  might  need  its  help 


OVERDOING.  449 

himself.  Father,  may  I  be  excused  and 
take  that  package  round  to  Dimlap's  now?" 

"  Yes,"  said  his  father,  "  and  I  must  be 
excused.  They  are  waiting  for  me  at  Stu- 
art's, I  dare  say.  By  the  way,  my  dear, 
poor  old  Joe  Hartzell  is  gone.  Died  this 
morning.  I  suppose  poor  Kate  will  need  a 
little  help  now." 

"  Dead,  is  he  ? "  said  Mrs.  Copeland. 
"  Poor  wretch !  I  suppose  that  is  what  has 
just  now  fired  Holly's  zeal  afresh." 

But  Fannie  still  played  with  her  spoon ; 
her  cheeks  flushed. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  think 
Holly  goes  among  those  grown  people  too 
much,  and  gets  made  too  much  of.  He  is 
growing  impudent.  The  idea  of  his  speaking 
of  Mr.  Bruce  as  he  did !  And  setting  up 
his  judgment  about  the  pledge  !  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  mother ;  "  he  doesn't 
mean  to  be  impudent.  It  is  just  boyish 
enthusiasm.  He  asks  everybody  to  sign  the 
pledge.  Why,  he  coaxed  his  father  into  it 
the  other  night.  I  reminded  him  that  he 
could  not  take  a  hot  drink,  with  brandy  in 


45O  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

it,  now,  after  he  had  been  out  in  the  cold,  and 
he  said  he  would  give  up  all  the  hot  drinks 
in  the  country  for  the  boy's  sake.  And 
after  all,  Fannie,  we  may  be  glad  that  his 
energy  takes  such  a  turn.  It  is  a  dreadful 
town.  Suppose  he  went  to  the  bad?  Your 
father  was  telling  me,  only  last  night,  of 
meeting  a  man  who  used  to  know  John 
Hartzell  when  he  was  a  splendid  young  man 
in  college.  And  look  at  him  now!  Think 
what  it  would  be  to  have  a  drunkard  in 
our  family,  Fannie.  Holly  may  better  ex- 
tract pledge-signers  all  over  the  country 
than  take  any  such  direction.  Besides,  the 
temperance  meetings  are  sustained  by  the 
very  first  people.  You  heard  Holly  say  that 
Mr.  Cleveland  always  attends  them." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  saying  anything  against 
their  temperance  meetings,"  Fannie  said, 
with  a  restless  air.  "It  is  a  grand  thing 
to  try  to  get  hold  of  the  drunkards,  I 
suppose.  But  Holly  ought  not  to  be  per- 
mitted to  insult  young  men  who  haven't 
time  to  indulge  in  such  work.  I  am  sure 
papa  thinks  Mr.  Bruce  is  overdoing,  as  it  is." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"ONLY  A   QUESTION   OF  TIME." 

HOW  did  it  happen?  Who  can  tell 
all  the  hows  of  these  things? 
Why  is  it  that  just  at  the  wrong  moment 
people  who  have  been  on  the  alert  for 
weeks,  must  relax  their  vigilance?  On  al- 
most any  other  evening  of  the  previous 
month,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
John  Hartzell  to  have  eluded  all  the  friends 
who  were  bent  on  saving  him.  But  on 
this  particular  evening,  they  went  their 
various  ways,  apparently  so  satisfied  because 
God  had  interposed  and  forever  saved  old 
Joel  Hartzell,  that  they  forgot  the  human 
side  of  the  struggle  and  went  home  to  rest. 
Mr.  Cleveland,  in  slippers  and  dressing- 
gown,  sat  before  his  open  grate  and  told 
his  mother  about  the  look  of  dignity  with 
45* 


452  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

which  death  had  touched  even  the  old  man's 
features  and  said,  reverently : 

"  Though  I  believe  it  was  not  death,  but 
immortal  life,  which  left  that  impress.  Is 
it  not  wonderful  to  think  of  old  Joel  in 
heaven  ?  " 

It  was  about  that  time  that  old  Joel's 
son  descended  again  into  the  mouth  of 
hell. 

He  did*  not  intend  it ;  oh,  no ;  I  do  not 
suppose  there  has  yet  lived  a  man  who  in- 
tended deliberately  to  descend  from  respect- 
ability into  ruin. 

He  returned  the  chairs,  and,  in  a  grave 
and  manly  way,  expressed  his  thanks.  He 
went  into  the  grocery  and  bought  and  paid 
for  a  small  sack  of  flour.  In  doing  so  he 
took  out  and  held  in  his  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment several  quarters  and  a  half  dollar 
while  he  counted  out  the  change.  I  will 
not  say  that  there  was  not  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  in  so  doing;  there  was  such  a 
recent  past  in  which  to  have  counted  out 
money  for  flour  would  have  seemed  to  him 
almost  a  miracle !  The  grocer  was  friendly, 


"ONLY  A  QUESTION  OF  TIME."         453 

and  held  him  for  a  moment  in  conversation. 
He  had  ordered  him  from  his  doorstep  more 
than  once,  but  if  the  man  was  going  to 
be  respectable  and  jingle  money  in  his 
pocket,  it  was  as  well  to  look  out  for  cus- 
tom. On  the  steps  stood  two  young  fellows, 
gay,  thoughtless,  not  exactly  heartless,  save 
as  rum  had  silenced  their  higher  natures. 

"Look  at  John,"  said  one,  "he  is  count- 
ing out  the  quarters  as  though  they  grew 
on  the  Flats." 

"  They  are  crowing  over  him  down  at 
the  temperance  meetings ;  he  is  quite  the 
fashion,  I  hear.  A  brand  plucked  from  the 
burning.  Still  I  heard  that  he  wouldn't 
sign  their  pledge." 

"Oh,  no,  he  won't.  He  prides  himself, 
they  say,  on  his  iron  will.  Think  of  John 
Ilartzeli  with  a  will  so  'iron  that  a  glass 
of  whiskey  wouldn't  bend  him." 

Then   they   laughed. 

"  Do   you   suppose    he    will   stick  ? " 

This  from  a  third  young  man,  one  with 
a  meaner  face  than  the  others.  One  of 
those  low,  laughing  faces  belonging  to  the 


454  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

fellow  who  has  sunken  low  enough  to  do 
anything  just  for  a  joke. 

"Stick?  no,  of  course  he  won't.  It  is 
only  a  question  of  a  few  days.  When  one 
sees  the  disgusting  fuss  that  is  being  made 
over  him,  one  is  tempted  to  wish  that  he 
would  hurry  up  and  get  back  into  the 
gutter.  Did  you  see  that  parade  at  the 
funeral  of  old  Joe  to-day?  Carriages  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  That  fellow  Cleve- 
land who  thinks  he  was  born  to  rule  the 
country  leading  the  procession,  looking  as 
solemn  as  a  priest.  I  would  like  to  see  that 
man  brought  do^n  in  some  way.  He  is  so 
far  above  common  people  that  he  will  hardly 
bow  to  them  on  the  street." 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this  astonishing 
confusion  of  logic?  Only  personal  pique 
and  political  differences  of  opinion. 

Mr.  Cleveland  did  not,  it  is  true,  recog- 
nize this  young  man  as  a  friend;  they  had 
not  a  thought  in  common.  That  they  had 
quarreled,  could  not  be  said,  because  Mr. 
Cleveland  would  not  quarrel ;  but  that  they 
differed  essentially  on  all  questions,  was 


"ONLY   A   QUESTION    OF   TIME.  455 

true,  and  in  the  nature  of  things,  necessary. 
Either  oil  or  water  must  change  its  nature 
before  both  can  mix. 

Then  spoke  the  nature  which  was  on  the 
alert  for  fun: 

"It  would  be  a  rich  thing  to  see  the 
faces  of  the  fanatics  when  their  pet  tum- 
bles again.  I  declare  I  should  like  to  be 
around;  I  wonder  how  long  the  reform  will 
last?" 

"I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  wager  that  I 
could  have  him  in  a  state  which  would 
edify  my  lord  Cleveland  by  ten  o'clock 
to-night" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  so  soon  as  that.  He  has 
just  buried  his  father,  you  know." 

"  What  of  that  ?  Much  he  cared  for  his 
father !  Haven't  you  heard  him  swear  at 
him  like  a  trooper?  I  tell  you,  John  Hart- 
zell  is  playing  a  game  on  the  rich  old 
maid;  that  is  all  he  is  about." 

"If  I  thought  that,  I'd  like  to  expose 
him." 

Don't  think  I  am  going  to  give  you  the 
entire  scene.  I  have  only  hinted  at  the 


ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


motives  which  were  brought  to  bear  on  the 
three  natures,  as  they  stood  on  the  steps 
and  watched  John  Hartzell  with  his  silver. 
They  had  never  moved  in  his  set,  those 
three.  They  were  several  grades  above  him. 
It  was,  therefore,  an  added  pat  to  his  pride 
when  they  accosted  him  in  a  friendly  way 
and  expressed  sympathy  with  him  in  his 
recent  affliction.  It  was  a  most  unusual 
thing  that  they  should  walk  along  the 
street  with  him. 

"Was  he  at  work  now  on  anything  in 
particular  ?  "  asked  the  young  fellow  who 
was  searching  for  fun.  "Did  he  know  Bur- 
ton of  the  lower  mill?  He  was  looking  for 
a  reliable  man  to  secure  permanently.  Per- 
haps Hartzell  would  like  the  chance.  Step 
in  here  and  let  us  wait  for  him.  He  will 
pass  presently  on  his  way  up  town." 

"  In  here  "  was  a  saloon  of  the  better 
sort.  It  had  a  soda  fountain  in  summer, 
and  a  refreshment  table  in  winter  where 
oysters  were  served,  and  it  was  patronized 
occasionally  by  thoughtless  temperance  people 
when  they  wanted  cigars  or  oysters,  and 


"ONLY  A  QUESTION  OF  TIME."         457 

did   not   want    to    go   up    town    any   farther. 

John  did  not  hesitate.  He  had  reformed. 
He  never  meant  to  drink  another  drop  of 
intoxicating  liquor.  He  was  as  ignorant  of 
his  own  heart  as  ever  a  baby  was.  He 
prided  himself  on  his  strong  will.  He  was 
not  afraid  to  go  into  saloons. 

"  Have  a  glass  of  beer,  Hartzell  ?  No  ? 
You  have  discarded  the  whole  thing,  have 
you?  Why,  I  thought  beer  was  innocent 
enough.  Well,  some  people  have  to  deny 
themselves,  I  suppose." 

Was  there  a  covert  sneer  in  the  tone? 
Was  there  a  hint  that  he  could  not  drink 
a  glass  of  beer  if  he  wanted  to?  Wild  and 
preposterous  to  you  as  it  may  seem,  he 
honestly  thought  he  could. 

What,  John  Hartzell,  who  only  a  few 
weeks  before  had  told  Miss  Wainwright  that 
he  had  tried  a  thousand  times  to  give  up 
the  stuff,  and  could  not?  Yes,  the  very 
man.  Don't  you  see?  He  had  done  it. 
Six  weeks  since  a  drop  of  liquor  had  been 
tasted  I  The  work  was  accomplished,  so  he 
thought  The  battle  fought.  He  was  a  free 


45 8  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

man  now.  Yet  the  smell  of '  that  beer,  as 
the  gentlemen  quaffed  it,  made  him  fairly 
dizzy  with  its  suggestions.  And  yet  he  was 
not  warned.  Don't  expect  me  to  explain  it. 
I  verily  believe  there  is  no  human  explana- 
tion which  can  fit  the  story.  But  don't 
you  know  by  your  own  observation  all  about 
the  strange,  blind  infatuation  and  foolhardi- 
ness  of  the  reformed  drunkards,  who  are 
trusting  to  their  own  will  power?  If  you 
do  not,  you  are  certainly  not  a  very  expe- 
rienced temperance  worker. 

Where  were  the  temperance  workers  that 
evening?  Why  did  there  not  pass  liy  a 
man  who  could  help  this  tempted  soul  who 
yet  did  not  understand  himself  well  enough 
to  know  that  he  was  in  mortal  danger? 
One  passed  by  who  might  have  helped.  At 
least,  he  might  have  tried.  He  did  not  go 
blindly;  he  paused  and  thought  of  the 
danger. 

That  one  was  Charlie  Lambert.  A  tem- 
perance man?  Oh,  yes.  He  drank  no  liquor. 
He  had  no  temptation  to  drink  any.  A 
pledged  man?  Oh,  no,  he  saw  no  occasion 


"ONLY    A    QUESTION    OF    TIME."  459 

for  that;  certainly  not,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned.  An  advocate  of  the  license  sys- 
tem? Well,  hardly,  and  yet  it  was  cer- 
tainly better  to  have  this  thing  regulated 
by  law,  if  people  must  have  it  among  them. 

Oh,  then  he  believed  in  getting  it  out 
from  among  them? 

Well,  -  no ;  he  did  not  consider  that  ex- 
pedient. In  fact,  it  was  something  which 
could  not  be  done. 

Why   not? 

Well,  the   country  was   not  ready  for  it. 

How  was  the  country  to  be  gotten 
ready  for  it?  By  continuing  to*  accept  the 
business  as  legal  and  under  protection? 

Oh,  well,  he  was  not  a  fanatic  on  this 
subject.  He  believed  in  individual  opinion. 

And  in  this  way  could  Charlie  Lambert 
dance  around  in  a  peck  measure  for  a 
whole  week  at  a  time,  and  call  it  arguing. 
Still,  he  did  not  believe  in  drunkards.  Oh, 
no ;  it  was  a  disgraceful  thing  to  get  drunk. 
In  fact,  I  tell  you  he  did  not  believe  in 
moderate  drinking.  He  had  not  so  much 
excuse  as  that  for  his  slippery  position. 


46O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

He  knew  John  Hartzell,  and  he  saw  him 
distinctly  in  that  saloon,  and  paused,  and 
said  to  himself : 

"  That    is    no    place    for    that    fellow.     He 
ought   to   know   better." 

Why  didn't  he  go  in,  and  at  least  look 
as  much  in  the  face  of  John  Hartzell? 
There  was  one  curious  reason  why  he  did 
not.  One,  two,  three,  five  young  men  he 
saw  in  there,  who  wers  acquaintances  of 
his ;  friends,  indeed,  in  a  general  way.  The 
proprietor  of  the  saloon  was  a  good  fellow. 
He  often  took  his  lunch  at  that  place.  He 
had  stopped  there  for  soda  almost  every 
day  during  the  summer.  What  an  embar- 
rassing thing  for  a  young  man  like  him  to 
step  in  there  and  try  to  rescue  John  Hart- 
zell !  It  was  too  much  to  expect.  After 
all,  John  might  be  only  waiting  for  some- 
thing. Besides,  he  would  go  to  drinkiug 
again,  of  course ;  no  confidence  could  be 
placed  in  the  reformation  of  such  drunkards 
as  he.  And  Charlie  Lambert  passed  by  on 
the  other  side. 

"Come,   now,"   said    the    gentlemanly    pro- 


"ONLY    A    QUESTION    OF   TIME."  461 

prietor,  "you  fellows  are  getting  too  noisy. 
We  don't  have  such  scenes  iu  here*-  Some 
of  you  must  get  Hartzell  out  of  here ;  this 
is  no  place  for  him." 

This  was  ,two  hours  after  Charlie  Lam- 
bert had  passed.  By  that  time  the  re- 
spectable oyster  saloon  was  no  place  for 
him.  He  must  go  lower  down.  One  of 
the  loungers  agreed  to  take  him  by  the  arm 
and  lead  him  away. 

"Coax  him  home,  Jimmie,"  whispered  the 
gentlemanly  fellow  who  had  started  out  for 
fun. 

He  had  had  his  fun,  and  someway  it 
left  a  bitter  taste.  Jimmie  nodded ;  but 
he  might  as  well  have  undertaken  to  coax 
a  panther  back  into  its  cage  after  it  had 
scented  its  prey.  What  John  Hartzell 
wanted  now  was  rum;  and  rum  he  would 
have. 

A  whistling  boy  went  past  just  as  he 
reeled  into  a  more  pronounced  saloon  lower 
down.  The  whistling  stopped,  and  the  boy 
stood  for  a  moment  horror  stricken.  It  was 
surely  John  Hartzell.  What  could  he  do? 


462  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Where  was  everybody?  He.  stood  only  a 
moment,  then  ran  on  swift  feet  around  the 
corner.  Doctor  Brandon's  house  was  the 
nearest,  but  Doctor  Brandon  was  not  at 
home.  He  hurried  up  the  stairs  to  Lloyd 
McLean's  boarding-house,  but  Lloyd  McLean's 
room  was  dark,  and  his  door  was  locked.  Then 
home,  father  might  have  come,  and  father 
would  go  to  the  rescue.  No,  Doctor  Cope- 
land  had  not  returned.  The  boy  was  pant- 
ing, and  almost  breathless. 

He  burst  into  the  parlor,  where  sat  Fan- 
nie and  Mr.  Bruce.  He  had  but  one  ques- 
tion to  ask : 

"  Do   you    know   where   Mr.    McLean   is  ? " 

"  No.  Certainly  Eben  Bruce  did  not  know. 
He  had  not  seen  McLean  in  a  week.  What 
was  the  matter?" 

"They  have  got  hold  of  John  Hartzell," 
Holly  said  still  breathless.  "  They  are  making 
him  drink.  If  I  knew  where  he  was,  I 
guess  he  would  know  something  to  do.  He 
is  with  the  others  a  great  deal." 

The  pronouns  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
sentence  referred  to  Lloyd  McLean.  Then 


•ONLY  A  QUESTION  OF  TIME."         463 

the  boy  rushed  away.  Fannie  and  her 
friend  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Fannie.  "  He  is  al- 
most wild  over  that  wretch  of  a  John 
HartzelL  He  was  so  attached  to  Kate.  He 
seems  to  be  determined  that  John  shall  re- 
form. I  suppose  nothing  is  more  hopeless. 
It  is  only  a  question  of  time  when  people 
get  as  low  as  he." 

Eben   Bruce    shivered   a   little. 

"Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  suppose  it  is 
only  a  question  of  time." 

Holly  rushed  to   his  mother. 

"0,  mother,  if  you  would  let  me  just 
run  down  to  Mr.  Cleveland's.  I  can  go  in 
fifteen  minutes.  I  came  home  at  half-past 
nine,  as  you  said.  But  they  have  got  hold 
of  him,  the  fellows  have,  and  they  are 
making  him  drink.  Mr.  Cleveland  would 
know  what  to  do.  May  I  go,  mother?  Say 
yes  quick ;  do,  please.  I  have  lost  so  much 
time  already." 

Could  she  let  him  go?  He  was  only  a 
boy,  and  the  streets  were  full  of  snares  for 
boys ;  and  it  was  the  wildest  sorfc  of  an 


464  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

idea.  What  could  Mr.  Cleveland  or  any 
man  do?  Poor,  miserable  wretch!  Of  course, 
he  would  drink.  As  if  everybody  did  not 
know  that.  She  was  sorry  for  Kate.  Yes, 
she  was  genuinely  sony ;  and  had  sent  her 
a  black  cashmere  dress  to  wear  to  the 
funeral,  and  a  black  wrap,  which  she  told 
her  to  keep ;  but  Kate  had  been  utterly 
wild  to  hope  anything  for  that  miserable 
brother.  It  was  a  good  thing  that  the 
father  had  died.  It  was  an  infinite  pity 
that  the  brother  had  not  died  years  ago. 
Holly  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing  as 
going  out  again.  It  would  do  no  good ; 
it  might  do  great  harm. 

Then  Holly  went  away  to  his  room.  He 
kissed  his  mother  good-night,  mournfully, 
his  lip  quivering  and  quivering,  so  that  he 
could  hardly  bear  it.  Once  in  his  room, 
the  door  locked,  he  sat  down,  all  hot  and 
trembling  as  he  was,  and  cried  great  burn- 
ing tears.  Then  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  even  as  Kate  and  John  Hartzell's 
wife  were  doing  at  that  moment.  . 

"  I   hate   it ! "   he   said,    clenching   his    hard 


"ONLY  A  QUESTION  OF  TIME."         465 

young  fist.  "I  hate  it!  I  wish  I  were  a 
man  this  minute.  I  would  do  lots  of  things. 
I  would  have  rooms,  bright,  light  rooms, 
and  people  on  the  watch,  and  a  man  at 
every  corner  to  run  to  when  folks  were  in 
trouble,  and  I  would  fight  it  all  ways  at 
once,  and  I  will.  I'll  fight  until  there  is 
not  a  drop,  not  a  drop  to  be  had  on  the 
globe !  That's  the  thing.  None  to  be  had. 
Then  they  can't  get  it.  That  will  end  the 
matter.  And  I  believe  it  is  the  only  thing 
that  will.  God  wants  it  so,  for  he  says 
that  no  drunkard  shall  go  to  heaven,  and 
rum  makes  drunkards,  and  always  has,  and 
always  will.  Then  people  who  want  folks 
to  go  to  heaven  have  got  to  get  rid  of  the 
rum.  There  is  no  other  way." 

I  am  glad  to  tell  you  that  this  boy  got 
down  at  Inst  on  his  'knees.  There  he  sobbed 
out  his  bitter  story,  and  from  thence  he 
arose  calmed.  He  had  done  what  he  could ; 
it  is  true  that  the  sum  of  it  had  been 
nothing.  But  the  Divine  Heart  whispered  to 
him :  "  Never  mind,  my  boy,  God  knows, 
and  God  reigns." 


466  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

Well,  there  is  a  rift,  I  suppose,  in  every 
cloud,  however  dark.  In  the  midst  of  all 
these  bitter  scenes,  Holly  Copeland's  edu- 
cation was  progressing. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"WHERE  IS  JOHN?" 

BUT  Miss  Fannie  Copeland  was  not  to 
get  away  from  the  temperance  ques- 
tion that  day.  It  followed  her  up-stairs  to 
her  pretty  room.  She  heard  Holly's  voice 
below;  he  had  brought  the  mail,  and  her 
mother  called  to  her  that  there  was  a  let- 
ter from  Mildred.  She  went  to  the  head 
of  the  stairs  to  receive  it,  and  promised  to 
come  down  presently  and  read  it  aloud ;  for 
her  mother  was  very  fond  of  Mildred. 

But  Fannie  did  not  read  that  letter  to 
her  mother.  It  was  a  long  letter.  There 
was  a  very  brief  account  of  home  engage- 
ments and  plans,  and  then  the  writer 
plunged  into  the  subject  which  evidently 
filled  her  heart. 

"  And  now,  dear  Fannie,  at  the  risk  of 
467 


468  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

seeming  to  force  your  confidence,  I  want 
to  ask  you  whether  there  is  any  truth  in 
the  rumor,  which  reaches  me  through  out- 
side parties,  that  you  are  very  intimate 
with  that  Mr.  Bruce.  We  are  dear  friends, 
Fannie,  you  and  I,  and  you  must  forgive 
me  for  speaking  plainly.  I  hope  there  is 
nothing  in  it;  because  I  am  afraid  for  that 
young  man.  There  is  a  lady  in  the  Mission 
Rooms  who  has  a  brother  belonging  to  one 
of  the  departments.  He  visited  her  yester- 
day, and  had  just  returned  from  Eastwood. 
He  visits  at  the  Flemings'.  You  may  have 
seen  him,  though  he  says  he  did  not  meet 
you  there  last  week.  Well,  he  had  a  num- 
ber of  Eastwood  names,  and  among  them 
that  of  young  Bruce.  He  says  it  is  com- 
mon report  in  Fred  Fleming's  set  that  the 
young  man  is  drinking.  Fred  Fleming  de- 
clared that  it  was  so,  and  that  something 
ought  to  be  done  to  save  him.  Poor  Fred 
needs  saving,  you  know.  It  is  pitiful,  is  it 
not,  to  think  of  his  trying  to  save  another 
from  coming  after  him.  on  the  downward 
road? 


"WHERE    IS    JOHN?"  469 

"  Fannie,  I  have  not  been  able  to  tliink 
of  anything  else  since  I  talked  with  that 
young  man.  I  am  afraid  that  the  reports 
about  Mr.  Bruce's  habits  are  too  true.  It 
seems  this  young  man,  whose  name  is 
Weston,  used  to  know  a  family  by  the 
name  of  Bruce,  and  interested  himself  to 
discover  whether  this  was  any  connection ; 
so  he  heard  much  about  him  from  several 
sources.  I  don't  credit  the  report  of  your 
intimacy,  and  shall  not,  until  I  hear  it  from 
you,  because  I  know  how  fond  Eastwood  is 
of  gossiping  in  those  directions.  I  hope  to 
receive  a  letter  from  you  by  return  mail, 
telling  me  that  it  is  all  nonsense. 

"Still,  Fannie  dear,  I  have  such  a  sore 
heart,  that  I  cannot  help  warning  you,  even 
though  I  hope  and  pray  that  it  may  be 
unnecessary.  You  remember  Leonard  Aire- 
dale, of  course?  You  remember  how  sure 
you  were  that  he  did  not  drink  wine?  I 
liked  to  hear  you  say  so,  yet  I  did  not 
believe  it  even  then.  Something  about  him 
made  me  afraid.  I  persisted  until  I  found 
that  he  did.  When  he  went  to  Chicago, 


4/O  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

he  was  under  a  very  solemn  promise  to  me 
not  to  touch  another  drop.  I  tried  to  have 
him  sign  a  regular  pledge ;  but  that  he 
would  not  do.  He  said  that  he  considered 
the  pledge  made  to  me  more  sacred.  Fan- 
nie, he  has  gone  down!  down!  Broken  that 
pledge,  and  every  other  that  an  honorable 
man  could.  I  have  been  rescued,  I  sup- 
pose, from  the  depths.  I  thank  God  for 
saving  me,  but  it  has  been  at  the  expense 
of  a  sore  heart.  This  is  why  I  am  writing 
all  this  to  you.  I  hope  I  am  coming  be- 
fore there  has  been  time  for  any  sick  hearts. 
Fannie,  my  dear  friend,  don't  trust  a  man 
who  ever  touches  a  drop  of  alcohol  for 
medicine,  or  in  any  other  conceivable  way. 
It  has  been  Leonard  Airedale's  ruin.  Don't 
trust  the  common  promise  of  any  man  who 
has  ever  tasted  the  stuff.  There  is  a  demon 
in  it  to  drag  men  down.  I  would  not 
trust  any  man,  save  on  his  knees,  asking 
God's  grace  to  help  him  keep  the  pledge 
which  he  has  taken  before  God  and  men. 
A  man  who  will  not  take  a  pledge  to  help 
him  keep  from  doing  what  he  says  he  does 


"WHERE    IS    JOHN?"  4/1 

not  intend  to  do,  is,  I  believe,  in  ninety- 
nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred,  not  sincere, 
and  wants  to  leave  a  loophole  for  his  pos- 
sible indulgence.  And  any  young  man  who 
in  the  light  of  to-day  does  not  stand 
squarely  iu  the  front  of  the  battle  and  work 
with  brain  and  voice,  and  vote  for  the 
cause  of  total  abstinence,  is,  I  believe,  not 
sincere.  How  cau  he  be,  when  everybody 
admits  that  souls  are  being  ruined  by  the 
curse  of  liquor.  Then  am  I  not  bound  to 
lift  up  my  voice,  and,  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  a  chance,  give  my  vote  against  it? 

"Suppose  I  accomplish  nothing.  Has 
God  ever  asked  me  to  accomplish  ?  Has  he 
not  simply  asked  me  to  try?  If  I  try  and 
try  and  TRY  and  fail,  will  he  hold  me  ac- 
countable for  the  failure?  But  if  I  do  not 
try,  simply  because  it  seems  almost  certain 
that  I  shall  fail,  am  I  free  from  responsi- 
bility ?  Forgive  me,  Fannie,  I  did  not  mean 
to  write  you  a  temperance  lecture ;  but  I 
feel  deeply  on  this  whole  question.  It  has 
burned  me.  I  would  not  have  you  suffer 
a  fraction  of  what  I  have.  Let  me  beg 


4/2  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

you,  dear  friend,  to  open  your  eyes  very 
wide  tof  this  question,  and  take  such  ground 
as  you  will  wish  you  had,  when  we  stand 
at  the  judgment,  with  all  the  ruined  fathers 
and  sons  and  brothers  and  husbands  and 
lovers,  who  are  going  to  meet  us  there." 
There  was  much  more,  but  I  have  given 
you  enough  to  show  you  that  Fannie  Cope- 
land  had  her  warning.  I  can  not  tell  you 
that  she  heeded  it  lightly.  She  was  indig- 
nant over  it;  she  cried  over  it;  she  was 
fearful  over  it.  That  very  Friday  evening 
when  young  Bruce  came  into  her  mother's 
parlor,  and  asked  if  lie  might  rest  there 
until  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  train  for 
the  doctor,  she  proposed  that  instead,  they 
go,  he  and  she,  to  the  temperance  meeting 
in  the  hall,  and  go  from  there  to  the  train. 
He  had  fifteen  excuses.  The  night  was  dark, 
and  unusually  damp  ;  he  was  sure  her 
father  would  not  like  to  have  her  out.  It 
was  a  long  walk  from  the  hall  to  the  train ; 
her  father  was  to  bring  an  important  piece 
of  medical  machinery  with  him,  which  must 
be  transported  from  the  train  to  the  office 


"WHERE    IS    JOHN?"  473 

with  great  care.  He  should  need  to  take 
the  sleigh;  it  was  not  large  enough  for 
three.  The  proposition  began  to  look  un- 
reasonable. Why  didn't  he  attend  those 
meetings  occasionally  ?  He  had  not  time. 
Was  he  interested  in  the  question  ?  Well, 
yes,  in.  a  sense.  All  men  were.  He  did 
not  believe  in  the  extreme  measures  of 
some ;  in  fact,  he  was  not  fanatically  in- 
clined in  any  direction  he  believed.  And 
yet  Eben  Brace's  conscience  said  to  him 
then  and  there : 

"  Bruce,  you  are  talking  like  a  fool.  If 
anybody  ought  to  be  a  fanatic  on  this  sub- 
ject, you  ought,  and  you  know  it." 

Had  he  signed  the  pledge  ?  Why,  no,  he 
hadn't.  When  he  was  a  youngster,  his 
mother  had  not  approved  of  pledges ;  a  lit- 
tle of  the  old  notion  clung  to  him  now,  he 
supposed.  Then  his  conscience  said  again : 

"No,  it  isn't,  Eben  Bruce.  .That  is  all 
nonsense.  You  have  proved  it  in  argument. 
It  is  a  new  notion  which  clings  to  you,  a 
feeling  that  you  cannot  consent  to  put  it 
out  of  your  power,  morally  speaking,  to  in- 


4/4  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

dulge  that  horrible  craving  for  alcohol 
which  sometimes  comes  upon  you.  You  are 
too  weak  to  want  to  do  it,  though  you 
hate  its  chains,  and  are  afraid  of  its 
power." 

"Don't  you  believe  in  pledges  of  any 
kind  ?  "  asked  Fannie. 

The  young  man,  under  the  spell  of  the 
earnest  eyes  which  were  looking  at  him, 
more  full  of  soul  than  they  ever  had  been 
before,  arose  and  went  over  to  her  side, 
and  dropped  into  the  seat  before  her,  and 
said : 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  believe  in  our  pledging 
ourselves,  now  and  here,  to  be  the  best 
and  dearest  friends  to  each  other  that  the 
world  has  ever  known.  Will  you  take  that 
pledge  with  me,  Fannie  ?  " 

That  was  a  master  stroke  of  the  enemy. 
Fannie,  startled,  flushed,  confused,  pleased, 
forgot  caution  and  fear,  and  the  future. 
And  the  golden  opportunity  passed. 

It  was  a  decent  and  decorous  funeral  that 
they  gave  the  body  of  poor  old  Joel  Hart- 


"WHERE  is  JOHN?"  475 

zell.  Doctor  Brandon  came  and  conducted 
the  service.  He  was  no  stranger  to  the 
house  by  this  time.  He  hud  knelt  frequently 
by  the  silent  old  man  during  the  weeks 
past,  and  asked  God  to  have  mercy  on  his 
soul.  He  was  familiar  with  the  story  of 
those  last  days.  He  had  himself  seen  a 
gleam  of  intelligence  on  the  old  face  that 
last  time  he  called,  and  heard  a  murmured 
"amen"  to  his  petition.  On  the  whole, 
Doctor  Brandon  read  the  words,  "  It  is 
sown  in  weakness,  it  is  raised  in  power," 
over  the  bruised  and  battered  and  sadly  ill- 
used  old  body,  with  a  sense  of  awe  and 
wonder  and  grave  delight,  such  as  he  did 
not  often  experience.  To  think  that  there 
was  a  Saviour  great  enough  and  good 
enough  not  only  to  forgive  old  Joel  Hart- 
zell,  but  to  raise  up  for  him  a  glorious 
body,  without  spot  or  wrinkle  or  any  such 
thing. 

"Verily,  we  have  a  wonderful  Saviour," 
he  said  to  Mr.  Cleveland,  as  the  two  stood 
together  over  the  wreck  that  life  and  death 
had  made,  and  saw,  both  of  them,  the 


4/6  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

look  of  something  almost  like  dignity  that 
the  old  face  had  taken  in  its  last  sleep. 

"  Aye,  that  we  have,"  said  Mr.  Cleveland. 
" l  And  their  sins  and  their  iniquities  will 
I  remember  no  more.'  That  is  wonderful, 
too.  No  human  being  can  think  of  old 
Joel  as  a  saint ;  but  God  will." 

Miss  Wainwright's  carriage  held  John,  and 
his  wife  and  Kate.  Mr.  Cleveland's  carriage 
led  the  way,  with  the  minister  beside  him. 
And  there  followed  a  carriage  which  held 
Miss  Wainwright  and  Miss  Hunter.  And 
another,  with  the  docter  and  Holly.  This 
little  bit  of  thoughtfulness  touched  Kate, 
almost  more  than  any  of  the  numberless 
other  kindnesses  had.  It  was  so  unexpected, 
and,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  so  unnec- 
essary. 

Do  you  know  just  how  strange  the  house 
to  which  they  returned  seemed  to  them  ? 
It  was  in  nice  order.  The  bed  had  been 
neatly  made  up,  and  was  empty.  The  little 
stand  which  had  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  and  held  glasses  and  spoon,  and  lamp 
—  all  needful  things  —  was  empty,  save  for 


"  WHERE   IS  JOHN  ?  "  477 

the  little  lamp,  which,  newly  filled,  stood 
waiting  for  them.  Kate  lighted  it,  for  the 
early  twilight  was  already  setting  in,  and 
shaded  it  from  the  bed ;  then  quickly  took 
the  shade  away.  There  was  no  need  for  it 
now.  She  sat  down  in  the  rocking-chair, 
which  had  been  brought  from  somewhere 
weeks  ago,  for  her  comfort,  and  folded  her 
hands,  and  looked  about  her.  It  was  a 
strange  feeling.  She  was  at  leisure.  The 
occupation  which  had  held  body  and  mind 
for  weeks  was  gone.  There  was  a  Strange 
sense  of  desolation.  She  had  not  thought 
to  deeply  mourn  her  father.  But  one  night, 
that  last  night  of  his  life,  he  had  said  to  her : 
"  Kiss  me,  Kate ;  you  used  to  when  you 
were  a  little  girl.  Poor  Kate ;  I  shall  be 
out  of  your  way  in  a  little  while.  I  meant 
to  take  such  good  care  of  you ;  I  promised 
her  I  would,  and  I  didn't.  I  don't  know 
but  she  will  be  disappointed  at  seeing  me; 
do  you  think  she  will  ? " 

And    Kate  had    answered   quickly: 
"  Oh,  no,  father  ;  oh,  father,  no  !     She  will 
be   glad,   and  I  will   come.'' 


ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 


"And  John?"  he  had  said  quickly,  with 
an  upward  inflection  in  his  voice.  And  she 
had  said  it  after  him  assuringly  : 

"And   John." 

It  took  with  her  all  the  sacredness  of  a 
pledge.  As  she  thought  of  this  last  talk, 
the  tears  came  thick  and  fast.  She  was 
missing  her  father.  Yet  there  was  a  strange 
sweetness  in  the  tears.  It  was  so  blessed 
to  think  that  he  lived  even  so  little  bit  of 
a  life  that  could  be  sweetly  missed. 

Mrs."  John  Hartzell  went  about  softly  pre- 
paring the  neat  supper.  She  was  sorry  for 
Kate.  She  had  never  thought  to  feel  a 
shadow  of  regret  for  the  father  whom  she 
had  known  only  as  a  trial.  But  there  had 
been  some  last  words,  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night,  spoken  also  to  her.  She  did  not 
tell  them,  but  she  treasured  them. 

Thus  in  silence  and  peace  the  evening 
gathered  around  them.  Suddenly  wife  and 
sister  awoke  at  once  to  the  same  question,. 
a  startled  look  in  the  eyes  of  both: 

"Where   is   John?" 

"He    went   home   with   the  chairs  from  the 


"WHERE  is  JOHN?"  479 

corner,"  Mrs.  Hartzell  said,  "and  he  said 
while  he  was  about  it  he  would  step  down 
to  Dunlap's  and  get  a  little  flour.  I  must 
bake  to-morrow ;  and  the  flour  is  all  gone. 
But  I  thought  he  would  be  back  before  this 
time.  I  told  him  we  would  have  tea  early." 
Kate  gave  a  quick,  little  exclamation,  as 
quickly  suppressed,  but  it  sounded  a  note 
of  warning  to  the  wife.  She  looked  up, 
startled. 

"Why,  Kate,  you  don't  think!" 
And  then  she  stopped;  her  face  blanched 
with  fear.  She  had  not  thought  of  it  be- 
fore. It  is  so  easy  to  learn  to  trust  one's 
husband,  when  one  wants  to  trust  him ;  and 
John's  step  had  been  so  firm  during  the 
past  weeks.  It  was  not  possible  that  she 
was  to  be  plunged  back  into  the  living 
death  from  which  she  had  been  creeping 
up.  Could  she  bear  it?  Would  not  the 
merciful  grave  which  they  had  seen  closed 
that  afternoon  open  again  and  take  her  in  ? 
Could  she  bear  the  suspense  for  an  hour? 
She  rose  up  and  began  to  walk  rapidly 
back  and  forth  in  the  little  room. 


480  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"Kate,"  she  said  fiercely,  -'you  don't 
think;  you  can't  believe  — " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kate,  drawing  a 
hard,  slow  breath.  "John  is  tired;  he  has 
been  under  a  heavy  strain,  arid  he  has  been 
excited  all  day;  and  there  are  fiends  abroad 
in  the  town." 

Do  you  think  they  will  ever  forget  that 
evening,  those  two  women,  sitting  beside 
the  empty  bed  watching  out  of  the  west 
window  and  the  south  window?  Glancing 
now  and  then  at  the  untasted  supper  on 
the  table ;  listening  to  the  dreary  song  of 
the  neglected  teakettle;  listening  constantly 
for  the  sound  of  footsteps  which  came  not? 

They  did  not  sit  inertly;  they  went,  first 
the  wife,  and  then  the  sister,  out  into  the 
night  and  the  darkness;  down  the  steps, 
down  the  lane,  out  to  first  one  corner  and 
then  the  other,  and  crept  back,  after  a 
little,  alone,  frightened,  almost  maddened, 
with  anxiety  arid  fear.  Before  the  midnight 
of  that  awful  night  was  reached,  earth 
seemed  to  the  two  to  contain  nothing 
sweeter  than  that  lately-closed  grave.  Oh 


"WHERE  is  JOHN?"  481 

to  be  hidden  out  of  sight  and  sound  within 
its  quiet  arms ! 

It  was  midnight  when  John  Hartzell 
came  home.  His  wife  was  out  on  the 
steps  peering  down  into  the  darkness.  She 
heard  him ;  stumbling,  swearing,  knocking 
violently  at  a  post  which  he  fancied  ran 
against  him.  She  shrank  into  shadow  as 
he  passed  her;  but  she  need  not  have 
cowered  back ;  he  was  too  drunk  to  see 
her  in  the  dim  twilight.  He  stumbled  into 
the  house,  and  sank  down  a  limp  heap  on 
the  broken  step. 

"O  God!"   she  said,    "O   God!" 

Do  you  think  it  vras  not  a  prayer,  and 
that  the  pitying  God  will  not  see  that  she 
is  avenged? 

Kate  had  fled  to  the  little  closet  room ; 
from  whence,  after  the  drunkard  had  thrown 
himself  on  that  neat  and  so  recently  vacated 
bed,  and  was  lost  to  sound,  she  stole  out 
in  search  of  the  wife. 

"  O   Annie,"   she    said   in   low    and    pityful 

tones,   "  poor    Annie,    come    in,     dear.      You 

.will  die   out   here  in  the    cold.     He    will  not 


482  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

hear  us.  Come,  let  me  help  you  in ; "  and 
the  poor  wife  looked  up  at  the  young  girl, 
her  eyes  tearless,  her  face  white  with  ago- 
ny; but  she  only  repeated  that  solemn, 
awful  name,  "O  God  I" 

"God  is  in  heaven,  Annie,  and  he  hears; 
be  sure  he  hears.  The  time  is  coming 
when  he  will  avenge  his  own.  We  belong 
to  him,  Annie,  and  father  belongs  to  him. 
Let  me  help  you  in." 

And  she  fairly  lifted  the  stricken  wife  in 
her  arms  and  bore  her  into  that  closet, 
where  the  rest  of  that  night  was  spent. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    VIGILANCE    COMMITTEE. 

THEY  had  heard  it  the  next  day.  Lloyd 
McLean  was  told  by  his  old  friend 
Eben  Bruce. 

"  Were  you  found  last  night  by  a  young 
whirlwind  ? "  he  asked,  as  the  two  met  on 
the  street  and  shook  hands,  and  then  Eben 
explained,  and  was  questioned,  and  cross- 
questioned. 

"No,  you  don't  tell  me  that  the  fiends 
got  hold  of  him !  Confound  this  thing ! 
Eben,  you  and  I  ought  to  go  into  it  with 
a  will.  I  hear  of  new  victims  every  day. 
Who  knows  what  will  come  next?  You 
look  wretchedly,  Eben,  are  you  overworking, 
or  what  ?  No  need  to  rush  so  now,  man ; 
why  don't  you  take  it  easily?  And  nobody 
went  to  the  rescue,  so  far  as  you  know? 
483 


484  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

That  was  dreadful !  What  were  you  about 
that  you  did  not  go  yourself?" 

He  waited  for  no  answers  but  hurried 
away.  At  the  postoffice  door  stood  Mr. 
Cleveland. 

"Have  you  heard,"  began  Lloyd,  and  then 
stopped. 

Yes,  he  had  heard,  and  his  face  had 
actually  seemed  to  age  under  it. 

"  I  am  broken  down,"  he  said  almost 
tremulously.  "I  dare  not  go  around  there, 
McLean;  what  can  we  do?  If  he  only  had 
felt  less  confidence  in  himself!  If  I  had 
only  stayed  by  him  last  night!  But  I  did 
not  dream  —  and  yet,  I  might  have  known ; 
it  was  just  the  time." 

If  the  young  fellow  who  had  been  the 
evening  before  in  search  of  fun  could  have 
looked  on  the  foiled  worker's  face  just  then, 
he  might  have  seen  effect  enough  certainly 
to  have  afforded  him  fun  of  his  sort  for 
some  time  to  come.  There  was  more  of  it 
at  the  Hartzell  home,  whither  Mr.  Cleve- 
land presently  went. 

"  Where    is    he  ? "  he    asked,    holding    out 


THE    VIGILANCE    COMMITTEE.  485 

his    hand    to    Kate,  saying   not    another  word. 

"  We   do   not    know." 

"  What !  They  told  me  he  came  home. 
They  watched  him,  some  of  them." 

"  Yes,  and  we  let  him  slip  away."  Her 
face  crimsoned  as  she  said  it.  "  I  don't 
know  how  we  could,  but  I  was  frightened 
for  Annie.  After  I  got  her  into  the  house 
she  had  a  sort  of  fit.  I  could  not  rouse 
her,  and  then  she  moaned  and  cried  in  an 
unnatural  way  ;  and  when,  hours  after,  she 
grew  quiet,  and  I  thought .  her  asleep,  I 
would  not  move  for  fear  of  disturbing  her, 
and  I  sat  and  held  her.  When  at  last  she 
stirred,  and  sat  up,  and  looked  about  her, 
she  said:  'I  haven't  been  asleep.  Did  you 
hear  a  noise?  I  am  afraid  he  is  gone.' 
We  came  out  here  at  once  and  he  had. 
It  was  just  in  the  gray  morning,  just  at 
the  time  that  father  went  home,  Mr.  Cleve- 
land. I  heard  no  noise,  but  Annie  thinks 
she  did.  She  thinks  he  must  have  awakened, 
enough  himself  to  remember,  and  then,  iu 
ghame  and  misery,  have  slipped  away  from 
us.'  She  mourns  so,  that  she  was  iiot  be- 


486  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

side  him  to  have  held  him.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  her ;  I  am  afraid  she  will 
lose  her  reason." 

She  looked  like  it  —  hollow-eyed  woman. 
No  tears  to  shed.  Her  eyes  looked  as 
though  they  might  burn,  rather  than  weep. 
Mr.  Cleveland  gave  her  his  hand  in  utter 
silence.  He  felt  rebuked ;  appalled.  Had  he 
been  unfaithful  to  his  trust?  Why  did  he 
not  stay  by  the  wreck  until  it  was  placed 
in  safer  harbor?  He  who  knew  so  well  that 
wreckers  were  •  abroad. 

The  wife    was   the   first   to   speak : 

"We    must   find   him,    Mr.    Cleveland." 

Some  way  the  words  gave   him  courage. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quickly,  "and  we  must 
save  him.  It  will  not  do  to  sit  down  and 
count  all  lost  because  he  has  fallen  again. 
Perhaps  we  should  have  expected  that." 

Before  he  could  say  more,  there  was  a 
rush  up  the  broken  step  and  Holly  Cope- 
land  stood  beside  them. 

"  O  Kate,"  he  began,  his  voice  eager, 
MI  tried,  I  did  not  get  anything  done,  but 
I  tried  so  hard.  And  Kate,  I'll  tell  you, 


THE   VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE.  487 

while  the  rum  is  all  over,  as  it  is,  there  is 
no  way  to  do  but  to  watch  it,  and  fight 
it  all  the  time.  We  must  just  get  rid  of 
it,  or  there  will  be  no  peace  ever." 

He  said  it  in  such  a  tone  of  quiet  con- 
viction, as  though  that  question  were  set- 
tled for  all  time,  that  Mr.  Cleveland  could 
hardly  forbear  a  smile. 

Then  Holly  had  his  story  to  tell,  and  its 
recital  did  not  make  the  self-reproachings  of 
the  man  who  listened  any  easier  to  bear. 

"  We  were  all  unfaithful,"  said  Kate.  "  An- 
nie and  I  ought  to  have  held  him.  I  did 
not  think.  It  seemed  to  me  last  night  that 
for  hours  my  heart  would  only  take  in  one 
thought,  and  that  was  that  father  was  safe 
forever." 

"God  saved  father,  and  God  must  save 
John.  Nobody  else  can." 

It  was  the  wife  who  spoke,  and  her 
words  took  hold  of  the  listeners  with  the 
power  of  a  conviction. 

"Amen,"   said    Mr.    Cleveland. 

Then  came  a  conference  as  to  what  to 
do  first. 


488  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

"  Is   your   faith   equal   to   the   strain  ? " 

This  was  the  question  which  Mr.  Cleve- 
land asked  of  Kate  as  he  turned  to  her  to 
say  good-by.  They  had  planned  what  there 
was  to  do.  For  the  women  it  was  that 
hardest  part,  to  wait  at  home.  In  the 
meantime,  men  were  to  be  placed  on  the 
alert ;  a  sort  of  impromptu  vigilance  com- 
mittee formed,  whose  first  object  would  be 
to  decoy  John  Hartzell  back  to  his  home ; 
after  that,  they  must  plan  the  next  step. 
It  was  not  to  be  easy  work ;  they  all  felt 
that.  John  Hartzell  had  been  too  hard  a 
drunkard  to  yield  the  struggle  easily,  now 
that  the  demon  was  roused  again. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  Kate  said,  a  wan  smile 
on  her  face;  "I  do  not  know  whether  the 
name  of  it  is  faith  or  presumption.  When 
he  saved  father  it  seems  to  me  such  an 
easy  thing  for  him  to  save  John  ;  if  only 
John  will." 

"Yes,"  the  listener  said,  "that  is  the 
only  '  if.'  God  must  be  true  to  himself  or 
he  would  not  be  God." 

Then    he    went    away    and     left    them     to 


THE    VIGILANCE    COMMITTEE.  489 

their  harder  task.  All  day  the  watching 
and  the  searching  availed  nothing.  Appar- 
ently John  Hartzell  had  dropped  from  the 
ranks  of  the  living  as  completely  as  his 
father  had.  Perhaps  the  most  disgusted 
member  of  the  vigilance  committee  was 
Lloyd  McLean.  In  his  eager  search  all  the 
early  part  of  the  evening  —  for  it  was  not 
until  evening  that  he  could  be  released 
from  office  duty  to  enter  systematically  upon 
his  work  —  he  came  in  contact  with  more 
of  the  low  and  revolting  features  of  rum 
han  he  had  ever  even  imagined. 

*•  No,  he  ain't  here,  my  hearty,*'  said  a 
drunken  wretch  in  answer  to  the  young 
man's  inquiry  as  he  opened  the  door  of  one 
of  the  lowest  dens,  "  I  ain't  seen  John 
Hartzell  this  blessed  day.  Shouldn't  wonder 
if  he  had  gone  and  drowned  himself  out  of 
respect  to  his  father.  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  lose  a  father ;  I  lost  one  once  myself ; 
come  in  and  have  a  drink  in  memory  of 
it.  I  know  you ;  why,  yes,  of  course  I  do ; 
you're  one  of  us,  ain't  you?  I  saw  you 
the  other  night  up  at  the  hall,  when  them 


49O  ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

fellows  was  whimpering  around  with  their 
pledge.  We  don't  sign  no  pledges,  do  we, 
you  and  me?  We  believe  in  liberty  of 
conscience,  and  free  speech,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  don't  we?  Come  in,  my  friend, 
and  treat  the  resolution  to  be  men.  No, 
sir,  no  pledges  for  us." 

And  he  gave  the  disgusted  young  man  a 
familiar  slap  on  the  shoulder  as  he  would 
have  done  to  a  boon  companion. 

Lloyd  McLean  slammed  the  door  hard,  to 
drown  the  coarse  laughter  of  those  who 
were  not  too  drunk  to  appreciate  the  joke, 
and  walked  down  the  street  with  a  face 
whose  color  deepened  as  he  thought. 

The  hall  where  the  temperance  meetings 
were  held  was  the  place  of  rendezvous  for 
the  searchers,  and  thither  he  went,  to  find 
Cleveland  alone. 

"Any   news?"   asked   the   latter,  eagerly. 

"  No,  there  isn't.  I  haven't  received  the 
suspicion  of  a  trail.  I  say,  Cleveland,  I've 
seen  and  heard  enough  to-night  to  make  a 
man  feel  sure  that  there  must  bd  a  place 
in  reserve  for  lost  souls.  And  I've  seen 


THE   VIGILANCE   COMMITTEE.  49! 

something  else.  I  wish  it  were  Friday 
night.  I  hope  we  can  work  up  such  a 
rousing  meeting  as  this  town  has  never 
seen ;  and  if  you  will  have  fifty  total  absti- 
nence pledges  here,  I  will  sign  them  all. 
And  then  let  us  organize  a  permanent 
league,  and  have  a  fund,  and  go  to  work 
in  dead  earnest.  This  thing  has  been  han- 
dled with  gloves  on  long  enough.  I  tell 
you  what  it  is,  I'm  roused." 

"Good!"  said  Mr.  Cleveland.  "The  sa- 
loons are  building  better  than  they  imagine, 
after  all.  They  are  at  work  educating 
workers.  But  in  the  meantime,  my  friend, 
where  is  John  Hartzell?" 

In  order  to  explain  to  you  where  he  was 
at  that  moment,  I  shall  have  to  return  to 
the  Hartzell  home,  and  the  people  waiting 
there.  Little  had  been  said  all  day.  Kate 
had  prepared  food  with  care,  and  a  certain 
degree  of  daintiness  —  prepared  it  with  refer- 
ence to  the  possibility  of  one  coming  who 
would  be  faint,  and  burning  with  unnatural 
thirst ;  but  no  one  came,  and  the  food  re- 
mained almost  entirely  untouched.  Kate 


492  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

tried  to  sew,  and  seemed  unable  to  set  the 
stitches ;  she  tried  to  read,  and  the  words 
beeined  only  to  be,  "Where  is  John?  Father 
is  safe;  but  where  is  John?" 

Thus  the  day  dragged  its  slow  length 
away.  Suddenly,  as  twilight  was  settling  on 
them  again,  Mrs.  Hartzell  sprang  up  with 
a  new  determination  in  her  face. 

"I'm  going  there  to  watch.  I  wonder  I 
did  not  think  of  it  before.  I  won't  come 
back  without  him,  Kate,  you  will  see." 

"  Where,   Annie  ?    where    are    you   going  ? " 

"To  the  little  room — the  little,  bright 
room ;  didn't  Miss  Hunter  tell  you  about 
it?  We  passed  it  once,  John  and  I,  that 
night  we  took  a  walk,  and  I  told  him 
about  it.  I'm  going  there  to  watch.  You 
stay  here,  Kate,  and  be  ready  if  he  should 
happen  to  come  home;  but  I  can't  —  I  can't 
wait  another  minute.  So  many  people  keep 
going  by  that  room ;  he  must  be  among 
them." 

And  Kate  was  silent.  It  was  a  dreary 
place  for  a  young  girl  to  sit  down  alone, 
with  only  a  vacant  bed,  and  the  thought 


THE  VIGILANCE    COMMITTEE.  493 

of  a  grave  to  keep  her  company ;  but  she 
could  see  that  whether  the  bright  little 
room  ever  did  anything  for  John  or  not,  it 
might  save  his  wife's  reason ;  so  she  helped 
her  on  with  the  worn  bonnet  and  the  faded 
shawl ;  and  the  poor  creature,  who  had 
heard,  before  God,  the  pledge  that  she 
should  be  loved  and  cherished  until  death 
parted  them,  went  her  way  to  watch  for 
the  one  from  whom  worse  than  death  had 
parted  her. 

All  night  she  stayed  alone  in  the  bright 
room.  People  passed  and  passed,  and  talked 
and  laughed,  and  whistled,  and  sang,  and 
swore ;  but  John  Hartzell  was  not  among 
them.  The  town  hushed  itself  into  quiet 
after  a  while ;  but  still  that  light  burned, 
and  the  shades  were  stretched  high.  Miss 
Hunter  slipped  down  from  her  room  above, 
once  in  a  while,  and  looked  on  the  watcher 
now  kneeling  by  the  window,  looking  up 
to  the  stars,  and  to  the  God  above  the 
stars,  and  shook  her  head,  and  went  back 
to  pray.  Once  she  came,  and,  touching  the 
kneeling  figure,  said : 


494  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"You  are  to  eat  a  bite  now.  It  won't 
do  to  be  all  run  down  when  he  comes,  so 
that  you  haven't  strength  to  hold  on  to 
him." 

The  plea  reached  the  watcher's  mind,  and 
she  ate  and  drank  with  resolute  air,  like 
one  who  was  resolved  to  be  strong.  Who 
would  have  supposed  that  the  frail,  shel- 
tered, white-robed,  pink-ribboned  darling  of 
the  years  long  gone  could  wait  and  watch 
and  endure  like  this? 

Yet  the  night  and  the  day  went  by,  and 
he  did  not  pass.  Where  was  he?  Skulk- 
ing! That  is  the  only  word  for  it.  A 
miserable,  shamefaced,  utterly-cowed,  despair- 
ing man.  He  had  drank  to  drunkenness, 
he  had  spent  his  last  cent,  he  had  pawned 
his  hat,  he  had  been  kicked  out,  he  had 
stumbled  to  his  old  home,  he  had  slept  the 
drunkard's  sleep,  he  had  awakened  —  not 
enough  himself  to  realize  his  misery,  but  to 
realize  only  that  he  must  have  more  rum. 
Yet  rum  he  could  not  get.  The  vigilance 
committee  was  at  work  before  he  had  made 
many  attempts,  and  by  ten  o'clock  of  the 


THE   VIGILANCE    COMMITTEE.  495 

morning  not  a  ruraseller  would  have  dared 
to  furnish.  John  Hartzell  with  liquor.  There 
were  certain  who  could  have  hinted  as  to 
his  whereabouts  at  intervals  during  the  day, 
had  they  chosen  to  do  so ;  but  it  suited 
their  policy  to  be  entirely  ignorant.  So  it 
was  that,  by  evening  of  the  second  day, 
he  was  sober  and  desperate.  He  had  lost 
all  trust  in  himself,  all  hope  in  others. 
He  had  settled  it  a  dozen  times  within  the 
hour  that  he  was  a  lost  man ;  that  there 
was  no  hope  for  him  in  this  world  or  the 
next;  that  he  wanted  nothing,  hoped  for 
nothing,  but  liquor;  and,  unless  he  could 
have  that,  he  should  go  mad.  He  had  set- 
tled it  that  he  would  never  go  home  again. 
He  would  get  away  as  far  as  possible,  then 
he  would  beg,  or  steal,  or  anything,  to  get 
enough  alcohol  to  kill  him.  This  —  as 
nearly  as  he  can  be  said  to  have  had  a 
plan — was  the  plan  of  the  miserable  man 
who  was  hiding  himself  alike  from  enemies 
and  friends. 

Mrs.     Hartzell    went    home     in     the     early 
morning,    after   her    night's   vigil.     She   shook 


ONE    COMMONPLACE    DAY. 


her  head  in  answer  to  Kate's  inquiring 
look  ;  but  she  shook  it  with  a  faint  little 
smile. 

"Kate,"  she  said,  going  over  to  her,  "he 
has  not  come  j-et,  but  I  think  he  will.  I 
have  something  to  tell  you.  I  have  learned 
to  pray.  Did  you  know  it?  I  cannot  think 
how  I  came  to  give  way  so  entirely  the 
other  night,  after  I  had  found  God.  I  did 
not  think  I  ever  should  again,  but  it  came 
upon  me  so  suddenly;  some  way,  I  had 
trusted  him  entirely.  Now,'  I  am  trusting 
God.  He  will  not  fail  me.  I  think  John 
will  come." 

She  did  not  say  much  more.  She  ate  her 
breakfast  steadily,  with  the  air  of  one  deter- 
mined to  conquer  the  utter  want  of  appe- 
tite. She  slept  a  good  deal  during  the  day, 
with  the  air  of  one  preparing  for  conflict. 
At  dusk  she  came  out  with  the  old  bon- 
net on. 

"  I  hate  to  leave  you  alone,  Kate  ;  but 
you  must  stay,  lest  he  should  come  ;  and  I 
must  go  and  watch,  for  fear  he  will  not 
come." 


THE  VIGILANCE   COMMITTEE.  497 

"I  know,"  said  Kate.  She  spoke  as  one 
almost  awed.  She  did  not  know  this  reso- 
lute sister-in-law.  She  could  but  think  that 
this  was  a  courage  born  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A  NIGHT  TO   REMEMBER. 

MR.  CLEVELAND,  when  he  came  to 
learn  if  possibly  something  had  been 
heard  from  the  lost  man  at  his  home, 
found  Kate  there  alone. 

"This  will  not  do,"  he  said  positively, 
when  he  took  in  the  situation,  "it  will  not 
do  at  all;  you  cannot  stay  in  such  a  neigh- 
borhood as  this  alone." 

"I  must,"  said  Kate,  gravely,  "and  there- 
fore I  can ;  it  is  my  part  of  this  tragedy. 
We  must  not  desert  the  only  place  he 
knows  as  home,  lest  he  might  come." 

"But  is  there  not  somebody  to  stay  with 
you  ?.'; 

She   shook    her   head. 

"  Nobody  from  whom  I  do  not  shrink 
more  than  from  solitude.  There  are  few 
498 


A    NIGHT  TO   REMKMRER.  499 

neighbors  here,  and  those  not  of  a  sort  to 
depend  on  in  time  of  need." 

"Where  is   the  woman  whose  baby  died?" 

"  Watching  over  the  next  one,  who  is 
also  going  to  die.  The  world  is  full  of 
sorrow  for  some,  Mr.  Cleveland." 

He  turned  from  her  abruptly,  with  the 
briefest  possible  good-night.  It  was  then 
nine  o'clock.  He  went  with  long,  swift 
strides  down  the  street,  making  no  pauses 
until  he  reached  Miss  Wainwright's  home. 
Then  he  gave  such  a  jerk  to  the  bell-knob 
as  brought  that  energetic  woman  herself, 
but  a  step  behind  Keziah,  to  see  what  was 
the  matter. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  the  moment 
she  caught  sight  of  the  messenger.  "Any 
news?" 

"  No  news  at  all.  We  are  watching  every 
street  corner,  and  every  rum-hole  in  town. 
It  does  not  seem  possible,  if  he  is  alive, 
that  he  can  elude  us  much  longer.  Miss 
Wainwright,  she  is  quite  alone  in  the  house ; 
in  that  neighborhood." 

"Who   is?" 


5OO  ONE    COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

"  Kate,  utterly  alone ;  not  even  a  n^igh- 
bor  to  call  upon.  If  he  should  come  home 
in  the  night,  raving,  as  he  is  liable  to  do, 
or  if  a  dozen  other  things  should  happen, 
what  would  become  of  her?  " 

"Where   is  the  wife?" 

"  Gone  to  Miss  Hunter's  bright  little 
room  to  watch.  It  is  a  heaven-born  idea. 
But  it  makes  it  no  less  desolate  and  dread- 
ful for  Kate.  Can  you  think  of  anything 
to  do?  Is  there  some  one,  some  woman 
who  can  be  hired  to  go  there  for  the 

night?" 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Wainwright,  speaking 
slowly,  "  I  do  not  suppose  there  is ;  at 
least,  if  there  is,  I  am  not  acquainted  with 
her.  Miss  Hunter  would  go,  but  she  is 
looking  after  the  poor  wife,  I  suppose. 
Well,  I  asked  the  Lord  to  give  me  work 
in  the  cause.  To  be  sure,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect it  to  come  in  this  form,  but  work 
isn't  apt  to  come  in  the  form  in  which 
you  have  planned  it;  I  have  always  noticed 
that.  I'll  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,  Mr. 
Cleveland.  Come  in." 


A   NIGHT  TO   REMEMBER.  $01 

"  You ! "  said  Mr.  Cleveland.  It  was 
genuine  astonishment.  Miss  Wainwright  was 
never  known  to  spend  a  niglit  away  from 
her  beautiful  old  home. 

"To  be  sure.  What  else  is  there  to  do? 
Come  in  where  it  is  warm.  Keziah,  gel 
my  things,  and  bring  the  wicker  basket  I 
packed  this  afternoon.  You  can  carry  it, 
can't  you,  Mr.  Cleveland?  It  isn't  very 
heavy. 

"  Keziah  might  go,"  she  said,  lowering  her 
voice  as  she  looked  after  the  astonished 
handmaiden ;  "  but  Keziah,  though  a  jewel 
in  some  respects,  is  a  nuisance  in  others. 
The  fact  is,  she  is  a  coward.  If  I  were 
to  send  her  down  there,  I  should  expect 
her  to  die  of  a  thousand  imaginary  evils 
before  morning,  besides  making  a  nuisance 
of  herself  generally  to  poor  Kate.  Oh,  I'll 
go,  of  course;  there  is  nothing  else  to  do." 

"But  you  cannot  walk  there,  my  dear 
Miss  Wainwright;  I  will  go  for  my  car- 
riage ;  I  can  have  it  here  in  ten  minutes.'* 

"  No,  you  won't ;  I  can  walk  well  enough 
if  I  choose.  I'm  not  over  fond  of  walking, 


5O2  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

and  see  no  reason  why  I  should  do  it  for 
pleasure,  since  there  is  no  pleasure  in  it ; 
but  I  can  walk,  on  occasion,  and  would 
rather  do  it  than  ride  after  those  horses  of 
yours,  in  the  night,  especially  over  on  the 
Flats.  Peter  has  a  cold ;  I  sent  him  home 
early  with  orders  to  soak  his  feet  and  go 
to  bed,  or  you  might  go  over  for  him. 
But  there  is  no  need,  I  can  walk." 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word ;  ready  in 
less  than  ten  minutes,  and  they  were  out 
together  in  the  clear  starlight.  As  they 
passed  the  brightly-lighted  hall,  Mr.  Cleve- 
land gave,  incidentally,  a  bit  of  information. 

"We  had  the  largest  temperance  meet- 
ing to-night  we  have  had  at  all,  and  the 
most  enthusiastic  one.  Some  of  our  friends 
are  getting  pretty  thoroughly  roused ;  this 
thing  has  stirred  their  blood.  Lloyd  McLean 
went  forward  the  moment  the  opportunity 
was  given,  and  put  his  name  to  the  total 
abstinence  pledge,  and  he  has  been  working 
like  a  general  for  signers  ever  since.  I  left 
the  meeting  in  his  charge  when  I  came 
away." 


A    NIGHT   TO   REMEMBER.  503 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  said  Miss  Wain- 
wright.  There  was  a  ring  in  her  voice, 
which  he  noticed  as  peculiar.  "Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  that  before  ? "  she  demanded. 

"I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  the 
ladies  were  not  out  at  the  meeting  this 
evening.  Why,  are  you  particularly  inter- 
ested in  him«? " 

"  I  am  particularly  interested  in  all  young 
men ;  and,  besides,"  added  the  truthful 
voice,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  "  I  knew 
his  father  once." 

"Ah,   yes,    I    remember." 

But  there  was  very  little  that  he  knew 
to  remember.  The  son  of  an  old  friend ; 
this  was  enough  to  account  for  a  special 
interest.  He  had  felt  a  peculiar  interest 
himself  in  the  bright  young  man,  and  there 
had  always  been  a  fear  that  he  was  in 
danger  from  the  gay  world. 

The  stand  taken  this  evening  had  given 
him  a  momentary  feeling  of  joy ;  but  the 
experiences  of  the  past  few  days  were  so 
absorbing  him,  that  it  had  quickly  passed 
from  his  mind.  As  they  turned  the  corner 


504  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

which  led  to  the  Flats,  Mr.  Cleveland 
said : 

"  She  stayed  all  alone  in  the  house  last 
night ;  it  ought  not  to  have  been.  This  is 
no  place  for  an  unprotected  young  girl  like 
her.  Miss  Wainwright,  I  don't  know  how 
to  thank  you  for  this  night's  sacrificing 
kindness." 

"  Why  should  you  thank  me  ? "  asked  this 
plain-spoken  woman.  "Why,  is  it  anything 
to  you?" 

To  this  no  sort  of  answer  was  given, 
and  the  rest  of  the  walk  was  taken  in 
complete  silence. 

It  was  after  midnight  again  and  the 
town  was  still.  Revelry  there  might  be  be- 
hind closely-drawn  shades,  or  close-folding 
shutters,  but  the  respectable  portion  of  the 
old  town  was,  for  the  most  part,  in  bed. 
Houses  were  dark.  There  was  starlight, 
and  a  late  moon,  therefore  the  street  lamps 
were  not  lighted. 

One  window  was  bright.  The  little  cheery 
room,  with  its  bright  fire  burning  in  the 
grate ;  its  two  rocking-chairs,  drawn  up  to 


A   NIGHT   TO   REMEMBER.  505 

the  table,  waiting ;  its  big  old  Bible  on 
the  stand  showed  plainly  to  the  passer-by. 
At  the  window  there  knelt  again  a  woman. 
She  had  shaded  the  light  in  the  early 
evening,  when  many  were  passing,  and 
shaded  herself  from  public  gaze,  as  well  as 
she  could,  and,  at  the  same  time,  not  lose 
the  sight  of  any  face.  But  now  the  light 
burned  up  brightly,  and  she  watched  and 
waited. 

Suddenly  she  gave  a  quick  spring  for- 
ward into  the  night. 

"  John,"  she  said,  her  voice  low  and 
clear,  "  John,"  and  she  caught  at  the  sleeve, 
and  held  on. 

"  Let  me  alone,"  said  a  muffled  voice ; 
"let  me  go." 

She  held  on,  and  held  with  force,  and 
drew  him  by  sheer  force  backward  a  step. 
She  had  carefully  kept  up  her  strength  all 
day  for  this  moment. 

"  John,  oh,  John,  come  in ;  come  in 
here.  See !  I  am  all  alone ;  it  is  a  nice 
place.  No  one  will  see  you  or  hear ;  I 
have  waited,  and  waited  for  you." 


5C>6  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

He  tried  to  hold  back  even  then,  but 
she  drew  him  by  the  power  of  her  stronger 
will.  He  was  fairly  within  the  little  bright 
room  at  last.  She  shut  the  door  with  a 
quick  backward  motion,  and  turned N  the  key, 
and  drew  it  from  the  lock.  Then  she  drew 
down  the  shades ;  the  outside  world  must 
not  look  in  now. 

*'  John,"  she  said,  "  sit  down,  poor  John, 
and  tell  me  all  about  it.  They  got  hold 
of  you,  and  you  did  not  mean  it ;  I  know 
you  did  not.  I  trust  you  full}r,  John ;  you 
did  not  mean  to  go  away  from  me  ever 
again,  but  they  got  hold  of  you  before  you 
knew  it,  and  then  you  \vere  not  willing  to 
come  home.  I  know  all  about  it ;  you 
need  not  tell  me.  You  are  hungry ;  you 
must  eat ;  I  have  supper  waiting  for  you." 

She  slipped  into  the  outer  room,  the 
speck  of  a  kitchen.  The  key  was  in  her 
pocket.  There  was  a  bit  of  a  cookstove 
there,  and  something  hot  and  nourishing 
simmered  on  it.  Miss  Hunter  herself  was 
bending  over  it,  rapidly  dishing  it  up.  She 
had  a  cup  by  her  side,  and  she  sat  down 


A   NIGHT  TO   REMEMBER.  $07 

the   bowl,  and    poured   coffee,  hot   and  strong. 

"Give  him  this,"  she  said.  The  wife's 
eyes  were  shining  like  coals.  "Take  this 
to  him ;  I  will  get  the  other  ready." 

Mrs.  Hartzell  seized  the  cup,  and  went 
back  to  her  husband. 

A  night  to  remember?  I  should  think 
so.  As  long  as  memory  lasts  to  John 
Hartzell's  wife,  either  on  this  side  or  the 
other,  she  knows  that  she  will  remember 
every  word  and  look,  and  almost  every 
thought  of  that  night,  as  though  it  were 
photographed  in  pictures  of  flame  before 
her.  It  was  more  than  that;  it  waa  cut 
into  her  heart. 

She  dealt  with  a  soul  on  the  very  verge 
of  human  despair.  You  know  nothing  about 
the  drunkard's  despair.  You  cannot  imagine 
it;  neither,  they  tell  me,  can  I.  I  have 
heard  one  talk,  and  his  picture  was  so 
vivid  that  it  seems  to  me  at  times  I  can 
imagine  the  scene,  yet  what  must  it  be  to 
feel  it? 

He  drank  the  coffee,  drank  it  with  a 
feverish  thirst,  but  he  did  it  sullenly.  He 


5O8  ONE   COMMONPLACE    DAY. 

asked  her  why  she  was  there.  He  told  her 
that  all  was  over;  that  he  had  given  up; 
that  he  had  been  in  hell  for  the  last  thirty- 
six  hours,  and  he  knew  that  such  was  his 
portion.  She  must  let  him  go.  Why  had 
she  brought  him  there  to  torture  him  ?  His 
misery  was  deep  enough  now.  He  was  going 
away  where  he  would  never  trouble  her  or 
Kate  any  more.  They  would  never  hear  of 
him  again. 

To  all  of  which  she  made  answer  only 
in  a  quiet,  matter-of-fact  way,  "John,  eat 
that,  or  drink  this."  Her  excitement  seemed 
to  be  gone.  She  was  as  still  as  the  night, 
and  as  gentle  in  her  tones  and  ways  as  a 
child.  When  she  felt  that  he  had  taken  all 
the  nourishment  she  dared  to  give,  she  set 
aside  the  empty  cup,  and  came  and  knelt 
down  before  him. 

"John,  look  here,  I  am  not  to  be  de- 
serted. I  will  not  be.  It  is  folly  for  you 
to  talk  in  that  way  to  me,  for  you  cannot 
get  away  from  me.  We  promised  ourselves 
to  each  other  forever,  and  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  getting  away  from  it.  I  will  go 


A   NIGHT   TO   REMEMBER.  509 

with  you  to  the  world's  end  if  3011  say  so, 
but  remember  I  am  to  be  with  you.  John, 
you  know  the  sort  of  life  your  father 
lived,  but  you  must  forget  that  and  remem- 
ber the  way  he  died. 

"*  Annie,'  he  said  to  me,  that  last  night, 
*  remember  this:  God  has  saved  me,  and  he 
can  save  anybody;  that  proves  it.  Do  you 
never  give  up  John  for  a  minute.  We 
must  spend  eternity  together  to  make  up 
for  the  way  we  have  thrown  away  time.' 

"  I  promised  him,  John,  and  I  mean  to 
keep  the  '  promise.  And  now,  I  want  to 
tell  you  another  thing:  You  can  begin  life 
over  again,  and  make  up  here.  Father 
waited  too  long,  but  you  are  young;  you 
can  undo  ever  so  much  of  the  past.  I 
know  how  to  do  it,  and  I  can  tell  you 
the  only  way.  You  want  God ;  you  must 
have  his  power  with  you  all  the  time.  It 
is  the  only  way  to  get  through  this  dan- 
gerous world.  I  know  I  should  have  died 
last  night,  or  gone  mad,  if  I  had  not  had 
God  to  hide  me.  He  can  hide  you,  and 
he  will  do  it.  Listen  to  this:  'In  the  fear 


5IO  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

of  the  Lord  is  strong  confidence,  and  his 
children  shall  have  a  place  of  refuge.'  Think 
of  that  'shall';  how  strong  it  is!  God's 
*  shall'!  That  is  what  you  need.  That  is 
what  you  are  looking  for.  I  can  show  you 
how  ,  to  find  it.  Think  of  walking  these 
streets  in  strong  confidence  that  no  one 
can  touch  you,  because  God  has  his  strength 
wrapped  all  about  you.  John,  you  have 
tried  it,  and  you  know  that  human  strength 
will  not  do.  Here  is  God's  strength  wait- 
ing for  you.  And  the  way  is  so  easy. 
Get  down  on  your  knees  here  with  me 
and  just  say,  *God,  for  Christ's  sake,  take 
me,  hide  me  in  that  place  of  refuge.'  He 
promised  it,  so  he  will  never  refuse  you ; 
just  a  word  and  the  thing  is  done.  You 
don't  know  about  it,  what  a  strength  there 
is  and  a  power,  but  you  will.  He  can't 
save  you  unless  you  want  to  be  saved,  and 
are  willing  to  let  him  do  it." 

He  had  never  heard  such  words  before 
from  his  wife.  In  their  earlier  years,  she 
had  been  gentle  and  shrinking,  and  during 
the  later  bitter  experiences  of  life  she  had 


A  NIGHT   TO    REMEMBER.  51 1 

"been  cowed  and  sullen.  Now  she  was  calm 
and  resolute,  and  as  sure,  apparently,  of  the 
rock  on  which  she  rested,  as  though  it  had 
been  visible  granite  under  her  feet.  It  was 
no  new  story  to  this  well-taught  man.  He 
had  forgotten  it  long  ago ;  but  the  memo- 
ries of  early  years  came  trooping  up  to 
him,  verse  after  verse  of  promise,  pleading, 
warning,  came  and  knocked  at  his  heart. 
Never  was  there  a  fiercer  battle  waged  with 
Satan  for  a  soul  than  went  on  in  that 
room  that  night,  where  the  shades  were 
drawn  close  for  the  first  time. 

The  hours  passed,  and  the  gray  dawn  of 
another  morning  began  to  creep  over  the 
world.  In  the  little  room  they  did  not 
know  it,  for  the  shades  were  heavy  and 
the  lamp  burned  brightly  still.  At  the  back 
door  in  the  kitchen  there  came  a  low  tap. 
Miss  Hunter  went  on  tiptoe  and  set  the 
door  ajar.  The  knocker  was  Mr.  Cleveland. 

"  We  saw  him  come  in,"  he  murmured, 
44  and  he  certainly  has  not  gone  out  again. 
I  thought  perhaps  I  ought  to  come  and 
see  if  help  were  needed." 


512  ONE   COMMONPLACE   DAY. 

Miss  Hunter  stepped  out  into  the  frosty 
air  and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  Even 
with  this  precaution  she  bent  forward  and 
spoke  in  a  whisper: 

"Mr.  Cleveland,  he  prayed.  I  heard  his 
voice,  and  I  heard  the  first  words;  then  I 
stopped  my  ears  for  I  knew  that  they  ought 
to  be  alone  with  God.  I  believe  he  is  a 
saved  man.  I  don't  like  to  disturb  them, 
but  the  fire  must  be  getting  low,  and  pretty 
soon  they  ought  to  have  some  breakfast." 

The  prosaic  and  the  eternities  mingling! 
Yet  while  the  flesh  enfolds  us,  what  are 
we  to  do  without  the  prosaic?  God  bless 
the  souls  who,  capable  of  rising  to  the 
heights  which  belong  to  immortality,  yet 
think  of  fire  and  breakfast. 

Mr.  Cleveland  made  one  more  call  before 
he  took  his  breakfast.  Kate  was  up  and 
dressed,  and  looking  out  of  the  south  win- 
dow, with  the  first  streaks  of  morning  sun- 
light glinting  over  her.  She  did  not  stop 
for  his  knock,  but  came  to  the  door  silent, 
waiting.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  her 
smiling. 


A   NIGHT   TO   REMEMBER.  $13 

"Do  you  remember  an  old  story  which 
ran  thus,  'Inquire  in  the  house  of  Judas 
for  one  called  Saul  of  Tarsus,  for  behold 
he  prayeth?'  History  has  repeated  itself; 
if  you  inquire  for  one  John  Hartzell,  be- 
hold he  prayeth !  That  L>  the  last  word  I 
have  had  of  him,  not  ten  minutes  ago. 
Kate,  God  has  come  down  to  us  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  of  power,  and  sup- 
plemented our  weakness.  Now  you  and  I, 
with  this  token  of  what  he  is  willing  to 
do,  must  join  hands  and  reach  out  to  Him 
in  behalf  of  the  perishing  world.  Can  we 
work  together,  Kate  ? " 

And  then  Miss  Wainwright  came  to  the 
door. 

"I  heard  the  first  words,"  she  said,  "and 
went  back  to  thank  the  Lord.  Now  you 
two  may  come  in  and  have  some  breakfast. 
It  is  early,  but  somehow  it  seemed  to  me 
that  a  good  breakfast  would  be  needed  here 
this  morning,  so  I  got  up  early  and  looked 
after  it." 

And  once  more  the  eternities  and  the 
blessed  prosaics  met. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


GRANDMOTHER  NORMANDY.  By  the  Author  of  "Silent 
Tom."  V.  I.  F.  scries.  .Boston:  D.  JLothrop  &  Co.  Price 
$1.25.  The  series  of  which  this  volume  is  the  third  issue, 
has  already  achieved  a  remarkable  popularity,  and  Grd/nl- 
iiiuther  Normandy  will  find  a  host,  of  readers  the  moment  it 
takes  its  place  upon  the  counters  of  the  bookseller*.  It  deal? 
more  directly  with  some  of  the  vital  points  of  Christianity, 
than  either  of  its  predecessors,  and  shows  how  the  hitler  things 
in  every  one's  experience  may  he  turned  to  good  and  lastii;^ 
account.  It  teaches  that  life  lived  selfishly  is  a  curse;  but 
that  giving  sympathy,  love,  help,  and  hope  toothers  makes 
one  grow  grandly  strong,  and  fits  one  for  great  things  in  the 
lien-after.  It  shows  that  to  one  who  works  earnestly  and 
conscientiously  life  la  a  vast,  undiscovered  country,  full  :>t 
marvels,  attainments,  golden  opportunities  and  industries, 
rich  with  mines  of  unexplored  thought,  and  bright  with 
usefulness.  The  story  itself  is  fascinatingly  told.  The 
character  of  Grandmother  Normandy,  stern,  relentless,  and 
unforgiving,  almost  to  the  last,  is  stiongly  drawn,  and  th'j 
author  has  shown  her  skill  in  the  means  she  has  devised  for 
softening  the  old  lady's  heart  and  melting  the  pride  whic'n 
has  wrought  so  much  unhappiness  in  her  family.  Tlie 
book  is  written  in  an  entertaining  style,  and  without  any 
flagging  of  interest  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last. 

Yoi  NO  FOLKS'  SPEAKER.  A  Collection  of  Prose  and 
Poetry  for  Declamations,  Recitations,  and  Elocutionary 
Exercises.  Selected  and  arranged  by  Carrie  Adelaide  Cooke. 
Illustrated.  Boston:  D.  Loth rop  &  Co.  Price  $1.00.  Here 
is  i  he  book  for  which  school  children  have  long  been  wait- 
ing; a  book  not  thrown  together  of  any  and  all  kinds  of 
material,  simply  to  meet  the  popular  demand,  hut  a  care- 
fully compiled  collection  of  pieces  suitable  for  reading  and 
speaking,  most  of  which  have  never  before  been  included 
in  any  work  of  the  kind.  The  oft  expressed  wishes  of  the 
children  for  something  new  —  "  Something  that  hasn't  been 
read  to  pieces"  —  is  here  fully  met.  Some  of  the  old 
favorites,  without  which  no  hook  of  declamation  would  be 
complete,  are  given;  selections  from  Longfellow,  Whittier, 
and  Holmes;  but  as  has  been  already  said,  the  bulk  of 
tin-  volume  is  made  up  of  fresh  and  unhackneyed  pieces, 
choxMi  for  their  poetic  merit,  pure  sentiment,  and  the 
riunity  they  offer  for  elocutionary  display.  No 
collection  of  the  kind  that  has  yet  been  published  presents 
bo  many  excellences,  or  is  better  adapted  to  the  wants  of 
the  class  for  which  it  has  been  especially  prepared.  It 
deserves  to  become  a  standard  in  the  schools  of  the  country. 
Tne.  illustrations  are  many  and  attractive. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


NEXT  THINGS.  By  Pansy.  A  Story  for  Little  Fo'ks. 
Fully  illustrated.  Boston:  D.  Lotlirop  &  Co.  Price  $1.00. 
This  is  a  bright  little  story  with  two  heroes,  and  the  lesson 
it  tries  to  teach  young  readers  is  to  do  the  work  that 
lies  nearest  to  them  first;  in  other  words,  "  What  to  do 
next.  No  one  can  do  the  second  thing;  he  can  do  the  first." 
B-jiind  up  in  the  same  cover  is  a  capital  story  called 
"Dome's  Day,"  in  which  are  related  the  adventures  of  a 
little  girl  who  went  to  sleep  in  the  cars  and  got  carried  out 
of  her  way.  The  history  of  what  she  did,  and  how  she  got 
home,  will  interest  the  children. 

MKS.  HARRY  HARPER'S  AWAKENING.  A  Mi?sionary 
story  hy  Pansy.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.00. 
This  is  one  of  Pansy's  "  lesson  books,"  in  which,  under  the 
guise  of  a  story,  she  drives  home  a  truth  so  thoroughly  that 
the  dullest  and  most  unimpressible  reader  cannot  help  seeing 
and  feeling  it.  Mrs.  Harry  Harper  was  a  young  wife  in  a 
.strange  city,  without  acquaintances,  and  with  nothing  to  do 
during  the  long  hours  of  the  day  while  her  husband  was  ab- 
sent at  his  business.  One  day  in  walking  aimlessly  along 
the  street  she  follows  a  crowd  of  ladies  into  what  she  sup- 
poses is  a  bazar,  but  what  she  soon  discovers  to  be  a  mis- 
sionary meeting.  Her  attention  is  excited  by  what  she  sees 
and  hears  ;  her  sympathies  and  religious  feelings  are 
awakened,  and  she  enters  into  practical  Christian  work  \\Jih 
all  her  heart  and  soul.  The  book  is  one  of  serious  purpose 
and  falling  into  the  hands  of  people  like  Mrs.  Harper  will  be 
a  means  of  undoubted  good. 

PIZARRO;  or,  The  Discovery  and  Conquest  of  Peru.  Il- 
lustrated. Edited  by  Fred  H.  Allen.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop 
&  Co.  Price  $1.00.  This  is  the  third  volume  in  Mr.  Allen's 
valuable  little  series,  and  is  a  concise  and  interesting  history 
of  a  country  which  at  this  very  moment  is  undergoing  a 
conquest  as  bloody  and  exhaustive  ns  that  which  occurred 
350  years  ago,  when  the  Spanish  ancestors  of  the  present 
race  of  Peruvians  carried  fire  and  slaughter  into  the  homes 
of  the  native  inhabitants.  The  story  is  t<>!d  with  spirit, 
and  with  enough  detail  to  enable  the  reader  to  get  a  clear 
and  connected  idea  of  the  different  campaigns  of  Pizario  in 
South  America  from  the  time  of  his  landing  on  its  shores  in 
1509  until  his  assassination  by  his  own  countrymen  in  hie 
bouse  in  Lima  in  1541. 


RECENT     BOOKS. 

-IE  WAI.TOX.  By  Mrs.  S.  R.  Graham  Clark.  Bos' 
I).  Lothrop  &  Co.  $1.50.  Of  the  many  good  books 
which  the  Messrs.  Lothrop  have  prepared  for  the  shelves  of 
Sunday-school  libraries,  "  Yensie  Walton "  is  one  of  the 
best.  It  is  a  sweet,  pure  story  of  girl  life,  quiet  as  the  flow 
of  a  brook,  and  yet  of  sufficient  interest  to  hold  the  attention 
of  the  most  careless  reader.  Tensie  is  an  orphan,  who  has 
found  a  home  with  an  uncle,  a  farmer,  some  distance  from 
the  city.  Her  aunt,  a  coarse,  vulgar  woman,  and  a  tyrant 
in  the  household,  does  her  best  to  humiliate  her  by  making 
her  a  domestic  drudge,  taking  away  her  good  clothing  and 
exchanging  it  for  coarse,  ill-fitting  garments,  and  scolding 
her  from  morning  till  night.  This  treatment  develops  a 
of  resistance ;  the  mild  and  affectionate  little  girl  be- 
comes passionate  and  disobedient,  and  the  house  is  the 
scene  of  continual  quarrels.  Fortunately,  her  uncle  insists 
upon  her  attending  school,  and  in  the  teacher,  Miss  Gray, 
she  finds  her  first  real  friend.  In  making  her  acquaintance 
a  new  life  begins  for  her.  She  is  brought  in  contact  with 
new  and  better  influences,  and  profiting  by  them  becomes  in 
time  a  sunbeam  in  her  uncle's  house,  and  the  means  of 
softening  the  heart  and  quieting  the  tongue  of  the  aunt  who 
was  once  her  terror  and  dread.  Mrs.  Clark  has  a  very  pleas- 
ing style,  and  is  especially  skilful  in  the  construction  of  her 
stories.  r 

"Yensie  Walton"  is  a  story  of  great  power,  by  a  new 
author.  It  aims  to  show  that  God  uses  a  stern  discipline  to 
form  the  noblest  characters,  and  that  the  greatest  trials  of 
life  often  prove  the  greatest  blessings.  The  story  is  subor- 
dinate to  this  moral  aim,  and  the  earnestness  of  the  author 
breaks  out  into  occasional  preaching.  But  the  story  is  full 
of  striking  incident  and  scenes  of  great  pathos,  with  occa- 
sional gleams  of  humor  and  fun  by  way  of  relief  to  the  more 
tragic  purls  of  the  narrative.  The  characters  are  strongly 
drawn,  and,  in  general,  are  thoroughly  human,  not  gifted 
with  impossible  perfections  but  having  those  infirmities  of 
the  flesh  which  make  us  all  akiu. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 

YENSIE  WALTON'S  WOMANHOOD.  By  Mrs.  S.  R.  Graham 
Clark.  Boston:  U.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.50.  Nine  out 
of  ten  Sunday-school  scholars  have  read  Yensie  Walton,  one 
of  the  best  and  most  interesting  books  that  ever  went  into  a 
Sunday-school  library.  The  present  volume  introduces 
Yensie  in  a  new  home  and  under  new  conditions.  She 
enters  the  family  of  a  friend  as  an  instructor  of  the  younger 
members,  and  the  narrative  of  her  experiences  will  especially 
interest  those  who  have  to  do  with  the  moral  and  mental 
training  of  children.  The  author  shows  that  all  children 
are  not  made  after  the  same  pattern,  and  that  one  line  of 
treatment  is  not  of  universal  application.  In  one  of  her 
pupils,  a  boy  of  brilliant  mental  endowments,  whose  mi:id 
has  become  embittered  because  of  a  physical  deformity, 
Yensie  finds  much  to  interest  as  well  as  to  discourage  her. 
She  perseveres,  however,  and  by  studying  his  character 
carefully  and  working  upon  him  from  the  right  side,  she 
gradually  works  a  change  in  his  disposition  and  brings  his 
better  qualities  into  active  exercise.  This  is  scarcely  accom- 
plished when  a  call  from  Valley  Farm  reaches  Ijer.  Ever 
prompt  to  do  duty's  bidding,  Yensie  quits  this  happy  home 
for  the  sterner  requirements  of  her  uncle's  family,  where 
she  lauored  with  unflagging  interest  and  determination  until 
that  uiuch-loved  relative  says  his  last  good-by.  It  is  then 
that  the  hitherto  silenced  wooer  refuses  to  be  longer  quiet, 
aud  our  heroine  goes  out  from  the  old  red  farm-house  to  her 
wedded  home,  where  as  a  wife  and  mother  she  makes  duty 
paramount  to  pleasure,  and  every  circumstance  of  life  is 
met  with  that  same  fortitude  characteristic  of  the  Yensie 
Walton  you  so  much  admire.  Besides  the  characters  with 
which  the  reader  is  already  familiar  through  the  former 
work,  others  are  introduced  which  are  equally  well  drawn, 
and  which  serve  to  round  out  the  story  to  completeness. 

THE  MOTHER'S  RECORD  OF  THE  MENTAL,  MORAL  AND 
PHYSICA:.  LIFE  OF  HER  CHILD.  Boston :  D.  Lothrop  &  Co. 
Quarto.  $1.00.  This  work  is  valuable  as  it  is  unique.  It  is 
prepared  by  a  Massachusetts  woman,  and  though  originally 
intended  for  her  own  benefit,  has  been  published  for  the 
help  of  mothers  everywhere.  It  is  intended  for  a  yearly 
chronicle  of  the  child's  growth  and  development,  mental 
and  physical,  and  will  be  an  important  aid  to  mothers  who 
devote  themselves  to  conscientious  training  of  their  little 
ones. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 

Tin:  TEXT  ix  TIU;  XOTCII.  By  Edward  A.  Kami.  A 
Sequel  to  "Baric  Cabin  on  Kearsarge."  111.  Boston:  D. 
L'>!hrop<t  Co.  Price  $1.00.  The  boys  and  girls  who  last 
y:ir  n-;ul  Mr.  Hand's  charming  book,  Hark  Cabin  on 
••sai-'jc,  will  hail  this  present  volume  with  genuine  de- 
light. It  is  a  continuation  of  that  story,  with  the  same 
characters,  and  relates  the  adventures  of  the  Merry  family 
during  tho  vacation  season,  the  camping-out  place  being 
changed  from  Kearsarge  to  the  Notch,  and  the  bark  cabin 
giving  place  to  a  large  Cent  for  a  summer  residence.  The 
location  selected  for  the  camp  is  a  short  distance  down  the 
Notch  road,  within  easy  walk  of  the  Crawford  House  where 
the  ladies  of  the  family  have  a  room,  although  their  days 
are  spent  at  the  tent.  From  this  point  excursions  ;ire 
made  in  all  directions,  every  known  point  of  attraction  being 
visited  and  others  eagerly  searched  for.  One  day  they  make 
the  ascent  of  Mt.  Washington,  the  ladies  going  up  by  rail 
and  the  boys  taking  the  Crawford  bridlepath.  Another 
they  climb  Mt.  Willard  to  enjoy  the  magnificent  panorama 
spread  out  below,  and  one  day  the  boys  take  part  in  an  ex- 
citing but  unsuccessful  bear  hunt.  The  author  lias  inter- 
woven with  his  story  many  of  the  local  traditions  of  the 
mountains,  and  his  descriptions  of  the  natural  scenery  of  the 
region  are  so  vivid  and  accurate  that  one  who  has  gone  over 
the  same  ground  almost  feels  as  if  the  book  were  a  narrative 
of  real  occurrences.  Like  the  first  voluem  of  the  series, 
The  Tent  in  the  Notch  is  capital  reading,  even  for  old  folks. 
To  the  boys  and  girls  who  expect  to  .make  the  mountains  a 
vL»it  this  summer,  it  is,  aside  from  irs  interest  as  a  story,  as 
good  as  a  guide  book,  and  what  they  will  learu  from  its 
pages  will  add  greatly  to  their  enjoyment. 

OVER  SEAS:  or,  Here,  There,  and  Everywhere.  Ill 
Boston  :D."Lothrop&  Co.  Price  $1.00.  Twenty-one  bright, 
sparkling  sketches  of  travel  and  sight-seeing  make  up  the 
contents  of  this  handsome  volume,  which  every  boy  and  girl 
will  delight  to  read.  The  various  stories  are  all  by  popular 
authors,  and  cover  adventures  in  Italy,  Germany,  France, 
and  other  countries  of  Europe,  China,  Mexico,  and  some  out 
of  the  way  corners  of  the  world  where  travellers  seldom  get, 
and  which  young  readers  know  little  about.  They  are  full 
of  instructive  information,  and  the  boy  or  girl  who  reads 
them  will  know  a  great  deal  more  about  foreign  countries 
and  tho  curious  things  they  contain  than  could  b«  gained 
from  many  larger  and  more  pretentious  books.  The  volume 
is  profusely  illustrated. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


DOCTOR  DICK  :  A  sequel  to  "  Six  Little  Rebels.  By 
Kate  Tannatt  Woods.  Boston  :  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price, 
$1.50.  Ever  since  the  publication  of  that  charming  story, 
Six  Little  Rebels,  there  has  been  a  constant  demand  from  all 
quarters  for  a  continuation  of  the  adventures  of  the  bright 
young  Southerners  and  their  Northern  friends.  The  hand- 
some, well-illustrated  volume  before  us  is  the  result.  The 
story  begins  with  Dick  and  Reginald  at  Harvard,  with  3Iiss 
Lucinda  as  their  housekeeper,  and  a  number  of  old  friends 
as  fellow-boarders.  Dolly  and  Cora  are  not  forgotten,  and 
hold  conspicuous  places  in  the  narrative,  which  is  enlivened 
by  bright  dialogue  and  genuine  fun.  What  they  all  do  in. 
their  respective  places  —  the  boys  at  college,  Cora  at  Vassal1, 
Dolly  with  her  father,  Mrs.  Miller  at  Washington,  and  the 
others  at  their  posts  of  duty  or  necessity,  is  entertainingly 
described.  The  story  of  the  fall  of  Richmond  and  the  assas- 
sination of  Lincoln  are  vividly  told.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  chapters  of  the  book  is  that  which  describes  the 
visit,  after  the  fall  of  the  Confederacy,  of  Reginald's  father, 
General  Gresham,  to  Cambridge,  and  the  rejoicings  which 
followed.  The  whole  book  is  full  of  life  and  incident,  and 
will  be  thoroughly  enjoyed  by  young  readers. 

YOUNG  FOLKS'  HISTOKY  OF  RUSSIA.  By  Nathan  Haskell 
Dole,  editor  and  translator  of  "Ram baud's  Popular  History 
of  Russia."  Fully  illustrated.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.50;  half 
Russia,  $2.00.  Mr.  Dole  has  for  several  years  made  a  care- 
ful and  special  study  of  Russian  history,  and  the  volume 
before  us  bears  testimony  to  the  critical  thoroughness  of 
the  knowledge  thus  gained.  Russia  lias  no  certain  history 
before  the  ninth  century,  although  there  is  no  lack  of 
legend  and  tradition.  Some,  attention  is  given  to  these,  but 
the  real  record  of  events  begins  just  after  the  time  Vladimir 
became  Prince  of  Kief,  about  the  beginning  of  the  tenth 
century.  The  contents  are  divided  into  two  books,  the  first 
being  sub-divided  into  "  Heroic  Russia,"  "  Russia  of  the 
Princes,"  "The  Enslavement  of  Russia,"  and  "The  Russia 
of  Moscow."  The  second  book  deals  with  Russia  after  its 
establishment  as  an  empire,  and  its  sub-divisions  have  for 
their  special  subjects,  "Ivan  the  Tyrant,"  "The  Time  of 
the  Troubles,"  "  The  House  of  the  Romanoffs,"  and 
"Modern  Russia."  It  would  have  been  in  place  had  Mr. 
Dole  given  the  reader  a  chapter  on  modern  Russian  politics, 
a  thing  which  could  easily  have  been  done,  and  which  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  enable  the  reader  to  understand 
current  events  and  prospective  movements  in  the  empire. 
The  volume  is  profusely  illustrated,  and  contains  two  double- 
page  colored  maps. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


OfT  AND  ABOUT.  By  Kate  Tannatt  Woods.  Illustrated. 
Boston  :  D.  Lotlirop  &  Co.  Price  $1.50.  Every  boy  and 
girl  in  the  country  used  to  delight  in  the  Bodley  books, 
and  here  is  a  volume  which  is  in  all  respects  their  worthy 
successor.  It  is  based  upon  something  like  the  same  plan, 
in  iliat  it  takes  a  whole  family,  instead  of  a  single  member 
of  it,  about  the  country  sight-seeing.  We  might  rather  sav 
two  whole  families,  for  that  is  just  what  the  author  does. 
The  Hudsonsand  the  Marstons  are  neighbors  in  the  vicinity 
of  Boston,  and  the  children  are  great  friends.  They  all  go 
to  Cape  Cod  and  Nantucket  to  spend  the  summer,  and  from 
there  the  Hudsons  are  called  away  to  San  Francisco  by  Col. 
Hudson,  who  is  an  army  officer,  and  is  stationed  there. 
The  book  describes  their  stay  on  the  Cape,  and  their  long 
overland  journey  to  the  Pacific  coast.  Its  interest  Is  not 
wholly  confined  to  the  members  of  the  party,  for  the  author 
takes  special  pains  to  give  correct  and  vivid  pictures  of  the 
various  places  visited.  The  illustrations  are  some  of  the 
best  ever  put  into  a  children's  book,  and  are  many  from 
drawings  and  photographs  made  on  the  spot. 

CHRONICLES  OF  THE  STIMPCETT  FAMILY.  By  Abby 
Morton  Diaz.  Boston  :  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.25. 
Some  one  once  said,  "  Give  a  Frenchman  an  onion  and  a 
beef-bone,  and  he  will  make  a  dozen  different  kinds  of 
delicious  soup."  Give  Mrs.  Diaz  two  or  three  simple  inci- 
dents, and  she  will  manufacture  half  a  dozen  stories  so 
sprightly  and  jolly,  and  so  full  of  every  day  human  nature 
withal,  that  to  the  young  they  are  a  source  of  perem.ial 
delight,  while  the  old  people  can  get  as  much  enjoyment  out 
of  tin-in  as  from  a  volume  of  Scott  or  Dickens.  This  new 
book,  which  has  never  seen  the  light  in  any  newspaper  or 
magazine,  will  be  ready  in  ample  time  for  the  holidays,  and 
the  fatlu-r  who  wants  to  make  his  little  ones  perfectly  happy 
at  that  time  will  take  good  care  to  secure  a  copy.  The 
Sti m poet ts  have  a  "  Family  Story  Teller,"  and  the  wonder- 
ful, queer,  strange  and  funny  stories  which  this  individual 
has  treasured  up  in  his  memory,  and  retails  to  the  children 
on  various  occasions,  will  be  laughed  over,  and  talked  over, 
and  thought  over,  until  the  author  la  ready  with  anoliia: 
volume, 


NEW    PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  TEMPTER  BEHIND.  By  the  Author  of  "  Israel  Mort. 
Overman."  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.25.  Most 
readers  of  fiction  will  remember  "  Israel  Mort,  Overman,"  a 
book  which  created  several  years  ago  a  profound  sensation 
both  in  this  country  and  in  England.  It  was  a  work  of  in- 
tense strength  and  showed  such  promise  on  the  part  of  the 
anonymous  author  that  a  succeeding  work  from  the  same 
hand  has  ever  since  been  anxiously  looked  for,  in  the  belief 
that,  should  it  be  written,  it  would  make  a  yet  more  decided 
impression.  "  The  Tempter  Behind,"  now  just  brought  out 
in  this  country,  shows  that  the  estimate  of  the  public  as  to 
the  ability  of  the  author  was  not  too  high.  It  is  in  every 
way  a  higher  and  stronger  work,  and  one  that  fannot  but 
have  a  marked  effect  wherever  it  is  read.  It  is  not  merely  an 
intensely  interesting  story;  something  more  earnest  than 
the  mere  excitement  of  incident  underlies  the  book.  It  is 
the  record  of  the  struggles  of  a  young  and  ambitious  student 
against  the  demon  of  drink.  lie  is  an  orphan  —  the  ward  of 
a  rich  uncle  who  proposes  to  settle  his  entire  property  upon 
him  in  case  he  conforms  to  his  wishes.  It  is  the  desire  of 
the  uncle  that  lie  shall  become  a  clergyman,  a  profession  for 
which  the  young  man  has  a  strong  and  natural  preference. 
Unknown  to  his  uncle,  he  has  formed  the  habit  of  social 
drinking  at  college  from  which  he  cannot  extricate  himself. 
The  terrible  thirst  for  intoxicants  paralyses  his  will,  anc 
renders  him  a  slave  to  the  cup.  Every  effort  lie  makes  is- 
unsuccessful.  He  loses  rank  at  college,  ami  is  afterwarc 
dismissed  from  his  post  as  private  secretary  to  an  ofllcial  of 
the  government,  on  account  of  the  neglect  of  his  studies  ano 
duties,  but  without  exposure.  His  uncle  knows  his  failures, 
but  not  their  cause,  and  demands  that  he  either  enter  the 
ministerial  profession  for  which  he  has  prepared  himself,  01 
leave  the  shelter  of  his  roof.  The  young  man,  who  has  tot 
much  principle  to  assume  a  position  which  he  fears  he  maj 
disgrace,  does  not  confide  ia  his  uncle,  and  secretly  depart; 
from  the  house,  leaving  behind  him  a  letter  of  farewell,  do 
ten  limed  to  make  one  more  trial  by  himself,  and  ainoii<_ 
stranger-;,  to  break  the  chains  which  bind  him  so  close!/ 
The  st.nry  of  his  experiences,  trials  and  temptations  are  viv- 
idly and  almost  painfully  told,  with  their  results.  The  bouk 

I 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 

A  FORTTXATE  FAILURE.  By  Caroline  B.  LeRow.  Bos- 
ton: D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $L25.  The  author  of  this 
charming  book  is  widely  known  as  a  successful  writer  of 
magazine  stories,  and  any  thing  from  her  pen  is  sure  of  a 
multitude  of  readers.  Her  style  is  clear  and  flowing,  and 
she  is  peculiarly  happy  in  the  invention  of  incidents.  In 
the  present  volume  her  powers  are  shown  at  their  hest.  The 
principal  character  of  the  story  is  Emily  Sheriuan,  the 
bright,  ambitious  daughter  of  a  New  Hampshire  farmer, 
whose  pride  and  comfort  she  is.  Taken  from  her  quiet  sur- 
roundings by  a  rich  aunt  and  placed  at  a  distant  boai ding- 
school,  she  meets  new  friends,  and  new  paths  are  opened  to 
her  in  life.  It  is  the  author's  plan  to  trace  her  development 
under  the  changed  and  varying  influences  which  surround 
her,  and  to  show  how  she  is  affected  in  heart  and  mind  o, 
them.  Nothing  can  change  the  natu.al  sweetness  of  her 
character,  however,  her  experiences  serving  only  to  riperv 
and  bring  out  the  finer  and  higher  qualities  of  her  nature. 
In  one  of  her  companions,  Laura  Fletcher,  the  author  draws 
the  type  of  a  certain  class  of  girls  to  be  found  everywhere  — 
bright,  warm-hearted,  full  of  life,  and  tinctured  with  tomboy- 
ism  and  a  love  of  slang.  Maxwell  King  is  another  well-de- 
lineated character  bearing  an  important  part  in  the  stoi, 
We  do  not  propose  to  sketch  the  plot  in  detail;  that  would 
spoil  it  for  most  readers,  and  we  do  not  wish  to  deprive 
them  of  the  pleasure  they  will  find  in  reading  the  story  for 
themselves. 


MART  BUKTOX  ABROAD.  By  Pansy.  111.  Boston:  D. 
Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  75  cents.  This  pleasant  book  is  made 
up  of  a  series  of  letters  supposed  to  have  been  written  from 
some  of  the  great  cities  of  Europe,  principally  Edinburgh 
and  London.  They  contain  information  about  objects  of 
It  in  these  places,  descriptive  and  historical,  and  are 
Written  in  that  gossipy,  unconventional  style  which  is  plea* 
lug  to  children. 


ENTERTAINMENTS. 


ENTERTAINMENTS;  Comprising  Directions  for  Holiday 
Merrymakings,  New  Programmes  for  Amateur  Perform- 
ances, and  Many  Novel  Sunday-school  Exercises.  Collect- 
ed and  Edited  by  Lizzie  W.  Champney.  Boston:  D.  Lo- 
throp  &  Co.  Price  $1.00.  Mrs.  Champney  is  known  as  a 
popular  magazine  writer,  a  poet  of  no  mean  ability. 
The  volume  before  us  is  a  specimen  of  her  skill  in  another 
direction  — that  of  selection  and  compilation;  a  work  requir- 
ing rare  judgment  and  almost  as  much  ability  as  would 
be  necessary  to  produce  an  original  work.  The  table  of  con- 
tents includes  exercises  for  Temperance  gatherings,  Fourth 
of  July,  Missionary  concerts,  Decoration  clay,  Thanksgiving 
and  Christinas.  Principally,  however,  they  are  intended  for 
use  at  Sunday-school  exhibitions  and  concerts.  The  ele- 
ment of  entertainment,  says  the  author,  must  enter  even  in- 
to religion,  if  it  is  to  be  dear  to  the  popular  heart.  Enter- 
tainments, at  any  rate,  the  multitude  will  have;  it  only  re- 
mains for  Christians  to  decide  whether  they  shall  make  this 
mighty  power  a  Christian  force,  or  leave  all  the  merry  and 
bright  things  of  this  life  to  the  service  of  Satan.  Sunday- 
school  literature  is  very  defective  in  dialogues  and  recita- 
tions of  an  attractive  character,  and  the  preparation  of  a 
programme  for  such  occasions  is  a  matter  of  supreme  diffi- 
culty. To  make  it  easier,  and  to  provide  a  source  from 
which  material  may  be  drawn  for  almost  any  occasion,  the 
present  work  has  been  prepared.  Most  of  the  matter  is  new, 
and  is  contributed  by  persons  of  experience  in  musical  mat- 
ters and  entertainments  of  all  kinds. 

A  chapter  on  "Accessories,  Decorations,  Scenery,"  etc., 
furnishes  full  information  upon  those  subjects,  and  a  num- 
ber of  patterns  for  evergreen  decorations  for  Christinas  en- 
tertainments arc  given.  Taken  altogether,  the  book  exactly 
fills  the  place  for  which  it  was  designed,  and  will  be  warmly 
welcomed  not  only  by  schools  and  societies,  but  in  every  fam- 
ily where  there  are  children  to  be  amused  and  instructed. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 

SINN  i.u  AND  SAINT  :  A  story  of  tho  Woman's  Crusade  : 
l>y  A.  A.  Hopkins,  author  of  "John  Bremni:  His  Prison 
Bars,"  etc.  Boston  :  D,  Loth rop  &  Co.  Price  $1.2.~>.  This 
is  a  notable  addition  to  temperance  literature  and  cmi, Lines, 
in  style  and  treatment,  some  of  the  strongest  charac- 
teristics of  that  unique  temperance  narrative,  with 
salient  features  peculiar  to  itself.  It  is  both  a  live, 
progressive,  radical  reform  story,  quite  abreast  with 
the  temperance  thought  of  to-day,  and  an  intense, 
absorbing  record  of  heart  experiences,  reading  as  if 
they  were  all  real.  In  its  delineation  of  scenes  and  inci- 
dents in  the  Woman's  Crusade,  it  traverses  a  field  rich  in 
suggestion,  in  feeling  and  in  fact,  and  hitherto  ignored  by 
the  novelist.  The  Crusade  marked  an  epoch  in  temperance 
activities,  and  Sinner  and  Saint  vividly  reflects  the  wonder- 
ful spirit  of  that  movement,  while  as  vividly  portraying  the 
strange  methods  and  the  remarkable  faith  that  gave  it  suc- 
cess. This  is  a  broader,  more  comprehensive  story  than  its 
predecessor  from  the  same  pen,  more  abundant  in  charac- 
ters, and  stronger  in  the  love  elements  which  these  contrib- 
ute. The  religious  tone  of  it  also,  is  more  decidedly 
pronounced.  Buylan  (New  York?),  Worrom,  Ohio,  and  a 
liocky  mountain  mining  camp,  form  the  locali.  Of  all 
these  Mr.  Uopkins  writes  like  one  familiar  with  his  ground, 
as  he  is  confessedly  familiar  with  the  different  phases  <>{ 
temperance  endeavor  and  need.  "  To  the  women  who  work 
and  pray,  for  love's  dear  sake  and  home's,  that  fallen 
manhood  may  come  to  its  own  again,"  he  dedicates  his 
work.  It  should  win  the  early  perusal  of  all  that  noble 
army,  and  of  a  wide  circle  besides  —  of  all,  indeed,  who 
sympathize  with  human  weakness  and  admire  womanly 
strength. 

KINGS,  QUEENS  AND  BAKBAUIANS;  or,  Talks  about 
n  Historic  Ages.  By  Arthur  Oilman,  M.A.  New  Edi- 
tion, enlarged.  III.  Boston:  D.  Loth rop&  Co.  Price  $1.00. 
This  handsome  little  volume,  prepared  for  young  readers,  is 
a  pleasant  condensation  of  the  main  facts  in  the  world's  his- 
tory from  the  time  of  the  Golden  Age  of  Greece,  which 
dates  back  to  five  hundred  years  before  Christ,  down  to  the 
Golden  Age  of  England,  or  the  time  of  the  Puritans.  The 
information  is  conveyed  in  the  form  of  a  family  dialogue,  in 
which  the  father  entertains  his  children  evening  after  eve- 
ning, in  a  series  of  talks,  taking  up  in  a  natural  way  one 
subject  after  another,  giving  just  enough  of  each  to  create 
an  appetite  among  the  young  listeners  to  know  more  about 
them  and  to  bring  the  various  volumes  of  history  in  the  fam- 
ily library  into  active  demand.  Young  readers  will  find  it 
a  delightful  volume. 


NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  LIFE  AND  EXPLORATIONS  OF  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE, 
LL.  D,  By  John  S.  Roberts.  Including  Extracts  from  Dr. 
Livingstone's  Last  Journal.  By  Rev.  E.  A.  Manning,  wiih 
Portrait  on  steel  and  illustrations.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  & 
Co.  Price  $1.50.  So  long  as  there  exists  in  the  human 
mind  an  admiration  for  heroism  in  a  good  cause,  for  cour- 
age under  extraordinary  difficulties,  for  inflexible  persever- 
ance in  the  face  of  obstacles  seemingly  insurmountable,  and 
for  faith  remaining  unshaken  amidst  disheartening  sur- 
roundings, so  long  will  the  memory  of  David  Livingstone 
be  held  in  respect  and  reverence.  The  simple  and  tin- 
adorned  story  of  the  wanderings  and  sufferings  of  the  mis- 
sionary explorer  in  the  wilds  of  Africa  possesses  a  stronger 
fascination  than  the  most  skilfully-devised  romance.  More 
than  thirty  of  the  most  active  years  of  the  life  of  Living- 
stone were  spent  in  Africa.  Going  to  that  country  at  ths 
early  age  of  twenty-seven  to  engage  in  missionary  work,  for 
nine  years  he  mingled  with  the  native  tribes,  acquiring 
their  language,  teaching,  and  making  such  explorations  as 
•were  incidental  to  his  labors.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
fired  with  the  desire  of  opening  up  the  mysteries  of  that 
almost  unknown  country,  he  set  out  upon  a  journey  of 
exploration,  the  particular  aim  being  the  discovery  of  Lake 
Ngami.  He  succeeded,  and  collected,  besides,  a  vast 
cvneant  of  scientific  and  geographical  information  which 
w  is  entirely  new.  In  1852,  having  sent  his  family  to  Eng- 
land, he  started  on  another  journey  of  exploration,  being 
absent  four  years,  and  traversing  in  that  time  over  eleven 
thousand  miles.  On  his  return  he  published  his  first  book, 
in  which  he  detailed  his  discoveries.  He  paid  a  short  visit 
to  England,  where  he  was  received  with  open  arms  by 
scholars  and  scientific  men,  and  every  honor  was  accorded 
him.  In  1858  he  began  his  third  voyage  of  exploration,  ac- 
companied by  his  wife,  who  died  on  the  way.  He  returned 
in  1868,  but  immediately  set  cut  with  a  more  extended  plan 
in  view.  For  more  than  four  years  nothing  was  heard  from 
him  except  in  the  way  of  rumors.  Then  letters  came,  long 
delayed,  detailing  his  plans,  followed  by  a  silence  of  two 
years.  In  1871  he  was  found  at  Ujiji,  alive  and  well,  by 
Ilenry  M.  Stanley,  who  had  been  sent  in  search  of  him  by 
the  New  York  Herald.  He  joined  Stanley,  who  had  been 
given  a  carte  blanche  for  explorations,  and  was  with  him 
until  he  died,  May  1,  1873,  at  Ilaia,  in  Central  Africa.  The 
present  volunie  is  an  intensely  interesting  account  of  these 
several  jouruyys  compiled  from  the  most  authentic  sources, 
Hie  chief  being  Livingstone's  own  descriptions  and  journals, 


RECENT  AND  CHOICE  BOOKS  FOE  S.  S.  LIERAKIES. 


It »    I :.  A.  ICiiinl.  It v  Cnrric  A.  «  cokr. 

Pushing  Ahead,    .         .         .         $i  25  To-days  and  Yesterdays,      .         $ 


Roy's  Dory, 

Little  Brown.Top,         .         .  i  25 

After  the  Freshet,         .        .          i  95 

By  .llargnret  Sidney. 

The  Pettibpne  Name,  .        .         $1  25 
So  as  by  Fire,        .        .         .          i  25 


Half  Year  at  Bronckton,       .          i  25  pur  Street 
By  Paiuy. 

An  Endless  Chain,        .        .        $i  50 


Ester  Ried  Yet  Speaking,    .          i  50 
New  Year's  Tangles,   .        .  i  oo 

Side  by  Side,         ...  60 


From  June  to  June, 

By  .llnrie  Oliver. 

Seba's  Discipline,          .        .        $    50 
Old  and  New  Friends, .        .  50 

Ruby  Hamilton,  ...  50 

By   Mi  -.  H.  B.  G.  Clark. 


Yensie  Walton 


Yensie  Walton's  Womanhood, 
By   Mr-.  J.  J.    C'oller. 

One  Quiet  Life,    . 
Robbie  Meredith, 


Soldier  and  Servant,  bv  Ella  M    Baker, 


Zsoldier  and  bervant,  bv  fella  M    Maker,      . 

Keenie's  To-morrow,  Jennie  M.  Drinkwater  Conklin, 

Hill  Rest,  by  Susan  .\f.  Moulton 


Echoes  from  Hospiul  and  White  House.     Experiences  of  Mrs.  Re- 


bccca  R.  Potnroy  during  the  War,  by  Anna  L.  Boy  den, 


Not  of  Man  but  of  God,  by  Jacob  M.  Manning, 

^mbridge  Sermons,  by  Alexander  McKenzie 

Self-Giving.     A  Story  of  Christian  Missions,  by  W.  F.  Bainbridge, 
Right  to  the  Point      From  the  Writir.gs  of  Theodore  L.  Cuyler, 

Living  Truths.     From  Charles  Kingsley, 

r< T  Mick's  Sake,  by  S.  J.  Burke, 

Little  Mother  and  her  Christmas,  by  Phoebe  McKeen,     .        .        . 

:^,  by  Lida  M.  Churchill, 

Grandmother  Normandy,  by  the  author  of  "  Andy  Luttrell,"  . 

The  Snow  Family,  by  M.  B.  Lyman, 

T>u«  Hr.ptism  of  Fire,  by  Charles  Edward  Smith,      .... 

Around  the  Ranch,  by  Belle  Kel!ogg  Towne, 

Through  Struggle  to  Victory,  by  A.  B.  Meservy 

Three  of  Us,  by  Heckla, 

Breakfast  for  Two,  by  Joanna  Matthews, 

Onward  to  the  Heights  of  Life, 

Tom  and  Mended,  by  W.  M.    F.  Round, 


by  V 
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That  Boy  of  Newkirks,  by  L.  Bates, 

The  Class  of  '70,  by  H.  V.  Morrison, 

Uncle  Mark's  Amaranths,  by  Annie  G.  Hale,   . 

Six  Months  at  Mrs.  Prior's,  by  Emily  Adam*, '. 

A  Fortunite  Failure,  bv  C.  B.  LeRow,      . 

Carrie  Ellsworth,  by  M.  D.  Johnson,        .        . 

The  Pansy  Primary  Library,  30  vols 7  50 

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Jolin  I'.remm,  by  A.  A.  Hopkins,       ....... 

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The  Tempter  Behind,  by  John  Saunders, 

Good  Work,  by  Mary  D.  Chellis 

Mystery  of  the  Lodge,  by  Mary  D.  Chellia, 

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NEW  PUBLICATIONS. 


ORIGINALITY.  By  Elias  Nason.  Boston:  I).  Lolhrop<fe 
Co.  Price  £.~)0.  Mr.  NMSOII  has  here  made  a  reply  to 
Wendell  Phillips'  ''Lost  Arts,"  which  is  well  worth  read- 
ing for  its  point  and  suggestiveness.  He  endeavors.to  show 
the  meaning  of  the  word,  and  what  important  results  have 
come  from  the  originating  powers  of  a  few  bright  men  since 
the  beginning  of  civilization.  He  takes  up,  one  by  one,  the 
points  made  by  Mr.  Phillips  in  his  famous  lecture,  and  shows 
on  what  slight  grounds  they  rest,  and  of  how  little  weight 
they  really  are  when  examined  and  analyzed.  Mr.  Nason 
does  not  believe  that  any  of  the  useful  arts  have  been  lost. 
The  ancients  had  few  to  lose.  They  made  glass,  but  they 
did  not  know  how  to  use  it.  They  could  embalm  dead 
bodies;  but  of  what  use  were  embalmed  dead  bodies  ?  They 
had  some  knowledge  of  mathematics,  but  a  school-boy's 
arithmetic  to-day  contains  more  mathematical  knowledge 
than  has  come  out  of  all  the  exhumed  cities  of  the  Orient. 
There  were  more  marvels  of  art  displayed  at  the  Centennial 
exhibition  than  in  the  ancient  world  for  twenty  centuries. 
Mr.  Nason  insists  that  the  sesthetical  productions  of  the 
ancients  have  been  vastly  over-estimated.  The  periods  of 
Demosthenes,"  he  says,  "  yield  in  Titanic  force  to  the 
double-compact  sentences  of  Daniel  Webster.  Mr.  Phillips 
himself  has  sometimes  spoken  more  eloquently  than  Cicero. 
Homer  never  rises  to  the  sublimity  of  John  Milton."  The 
world  grows  wiser  and  better.  Age  by  age,  it  has  been  de- 
veloping its  resources  and  adding  pearl  to  pearl  to  the  diadem 
of  its  wisdom;  sometimes  slower,  sometimes  quicker,  but 
always  upward  and  onward.  Mr.  Nason  writes  in  a  fresh 
and  sparkling  style,  and  the  thousands  who  have  listened 
with  rapt  attention  to  Mr.  Phillips'  eloquent,  presentation  of 
hl<  side  of  the  question  will  find  equal  pleasure  and  greater 
profit  in  reading  this  charming  essay,  which  is  equally  elo- 
quent and  unquestionably  sounder  in  its  conclusions. 

THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS  OF  CHAISLES  DICKENS.  By 
Phebe  A.  Hanaford.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price 
$1.50.  A  life  of  Dickens,  written  by  a  popular  author 
and  upon  a  new  plan,  will  be  sure  to  meet  with  favor  at  the 
hands  of  the  public.  Mrs.  Hanaford  has  not  attempted  to 
write  a  critical  and  original  analysis  of  the  great  author 
from  her  own  point  of  view,  but,  while  sketch ina:  the  main 
incidents  of  his  life,  has  quoted  liberally  from  his  works  to 
illustrate  his  genius,  and  from  the  correspondence  and 
writings  of  his  personal  friends  to  show  the  estimation  in 
which  he  was  held  by  them  as  a  man,  a  philanthropist  and 
a  Christian.  The  volume  commends  itself  to  every  lover  o/ 
Dickens,  and  deserves  to  be  widely  known  and  read. 


CHEERFUL  WORDS.* 

In  the  whole  range  of  English  literature  we  can  call  to 
mind  the  works  of  no  single  author  to  which  the  title, 
"Cheerful  Words."  can  more  properly  apply  than  to  those  of 
Geo:  _  :  nald.  It  exactly  expresses  the  element  which 
permeates  everything  from  his  pen,  whether  sermon,  essay, 
story  or  poem  —  an  element  which  strengthens  while  it 
cheers,  which  instills  new  light  and  life  into  the  doubting  or 
discouraged  soul,  and  incites  i,  to  fresh  effort. 

In  the  volume  hefore  us  the  editor  has  brought  together, 
with  a  careful  and  judicious  hand,  some  of  the  choicest  pas- 
-j  from  Macdonald's  works,  written  in  various  keys  and 
upon  various  subjects,  but  all  marked  by  healthy  sentiment 
ami  sunshiny  feeling.  In  quoting  what  a  late  critic  has  said 
of  the  "  electrical  consciousness"  which  characterizes  his 
writings,  the  editor  remarks:  "The  breadth  and  manliness 
of  tone  and  sentiment,  the  deep  perceptions  of  human 
nature,  the  originality  f» fancy  and  pathos,  the  fresh,  out-of- 
door  atmosphere  everywhere  apparent;  above  all,  the  earnest, 
wholesome,  but  always  unobtrusive  religious  teaching  that 
underlies  all  his  writings,  give  to  the  works  of  George  Mac- 
donald  a  certain  magnetic  power  that  is  indescribable." 
And  in  the  selections  here  made  that  power  is  singularly  ap- 
parent. By  turns  they  touch  the  heart,  fire  the  imagination, 
moisten  the  eyes,  arouse  the  sympathies,  and  bring  into 
active  exercise  the  better  feelings  and  instincts  of  mind  and 
heart. 

The  introduction  to  the  volume  is  from  the  pen  of  James 
T.  Fields,  a  persona/  friend  and  ardent  admirer  of  the  au- 
thor. He  regards  Macdonald  as  a  master  of  his  art,  and 
believes  in  holding  up  for  admiration  those  like  him.  who 
have  borne  witness  to  the  eternal  beauty  and  cheerful  capa- 
bilities of  the  universe  around  us,  and  who  are  lovingly 
reminding  us,  whenever  they  write,  of  the  "holiness  of  help- 
fulness." 

•Cheerful  Words.  By  George  Macdonald.  Introduction  by  James  T. 
Fields,  and  Biography  by  Emma  E.  Brown.  Spare  Minute  Series.  Boston' 
D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  Price  $1.00. 


LINKS  IN  REBECCA'S  LIFE.  By  "  Pansy."  Price,  $1.50. 
Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co. 

"Pansy"  has  no  rival  as  an  author  of  the  best  class  of 
Sunday-school  books.  Her  "Ester  Hied"  and  "Chautauqua 
Girls  "  series  are  models  in  that  important  line  of  literature. 
Her  new  book,  "  Links  in  Rebecca's  Life,"  is  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  same  list.  This  book  is  an  admirable  one.  Its 
tone  is  healthy  and  stimulating,  without  a  trace  of  senti- 
mental ism  or  cant:  and  its  characters  are  thoroughly  natu- 
ral, such  as  any  reader  can  recognize  in  the  community  in 
•which  be  happens  to  live.  The  heroine,  Rebecca,  is  intense- 
ly human,  with  a  noble  nature  in  which  many  weaknesses 
hide  themselves  and  come  often  to  the  surface.  But  she  is 
a  Christian  of  the  best  type,  and  her  aspirations  and  hard- 
fought  battles  inspire  enthusiasm  in  a  reader.  The  Com- 
mittee on  International  Lessons  couldn't  do  a  better  thing 
than  to  circulate  this  book  in  every  part  of  the  land.  It 
shows  how  the  lessons  may  be  made  helpful  in  the  daily 
life,  and  how  the  Old  Testament  may  be  taught  with  in- 
terest to  an  Infant  School,  or  to  men  and  women  of  every 
congregation. 

ECHOING  AND  RE-ECHOING.  By  Faye  Huntington.  Price 
$1.50.  Boston:  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.,  publishers. 

It  shows  great  ignorance  of  the  Sunday-school  literature 
of  our  day,  when  one  calls  it  weak  and  namby-stuff,  with  an 
equal  mixture  of  love-stories,  and  impossible  adventures. 
The  censure  is  just  for  a  certain  class  of  books,  but  a  large 
library  may  be  gathered  of  first-class  works  admirable  alike 
in  moral  tone  and  in  literary  execution,  books  which  every- 
body can  read  with  delight  and  profit.  "Echoing  and  Re- 
echoing" is  a  book  of  this  sort,  a  well-told  story,  abounding 
with  practical  lessons,  and  inciting  to  a  noble  Christian  life. 
The  most  intelligent  opponent  of  religious  novels  will  find 
his  prejudices  giving  way  in  reading  it,  and  a  fastidious  lit- 
erary reader  will  be  thankful  that  children  have  such  good 
books  for  moulding  their  literary  tastes. 


205 


QQ 


Central  University  Library 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 
Please  Note:  This  item  is  subject  to  recall. 

Date  Due 


U.CS.D. 


JAN  Qc    1995 


Cl  39  (7/93) 


UCSD  Lib. 


